


be a place that i call home

by lightseep



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Parents, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Family, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Home, M/M, OT5 Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 70,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightseep/pseuds/lightseep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes, home is a person. and sometimes, home is lots of people and sometimes home is two very, very little people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is my baby. i birthed it. i pushed it from my fruitful womb and it took a long, agonizing 5 months. it is a Beast baby. feast upon my child, and let it nourish you as you nourish it by reading. 
> 
> NO BUT REALLY. this fic would have been I M P O S S I B L E without so many people, let me tell you who they are:
> 
> [bee](http://verybee.tumblr.com), who i wrote this for. she planted the idea in my head and i owe this whole majestic, crazy ass dreamworld to her. she didn't ask for a big bang but a big bang is what she got. thank you for being you. thank you for your brain, and for always being on the same wavelength as me. thank you for giving me the means with which to create this, my beast baby.
> 
> [kristin](http://puffkrispy.tumblr.com), my beta and my rock throughout *zayn malik voice* is (s)he my rock? yeah. i couldn't have asked for a more dedicated, helpful, delight of a right-hand-woman. she marked her edits in red, harsh as fuck, so that's how you know it's real. thank you for teaching me about children and holding my hand and hugging me and kissing me repeatedly through the phone. 
> 
> [nikki](http://measureyourself.tumblr.com), my beautiful artist! i can't say how much it means to me that you would take the time and creative energy to craft such a perfect mixtape. thank you for sharing this passion with me. 
> 
> [rebecca](http://rehecca.tumblr.com), who listened to me complain and whine and stamp my feet about everything. thank you for being my cheerleader. imagining you in a tight little skirt, cheering me on, was my driving force to make it to the finish line. 
> 
> [rachel](http://dicapriohmygod.tumblr.com), my soulmate, who sent me encouraging texts at random that always seemed to find me when i was down in the writers block dumps. thank you for being an angel, the zayn to my liam. you're zayn because you're so beautiful i can hardly stand to look at you.
> 
> if you want to know how this fic is supposed to sound, please. [listen to nikki's mix](http://8tracks.com/nikkisofiaa/sometimes-home-has-a-heartbeat). she killed it.
> 
> [[fic title taken from "slip into your skin"- by patrick watson]]

 

_Once upon a time, there was a tiny cottage in a far away land._

_In the cottage there lived a family. Not a very big family, but a family all the same with two parents and two little children. One day, the children were playing in the back garden when they heard a mysterious sound coming from the edge of their field._

_“What was that?” asked the little boy._

_“I don’t know,” the little girl whispered back._

_They stopped playing and listened closely. There was a chill wind that day and it rustled the tall grasses around them._

_Soon, all was quiet. The children began playing again and didn’t think anymore of it until—_

_“I heard it again!” said the little girl, her eyes growing big. It was a loud and heavy thumping sound, like someone was walking towards them. Feeling scared, the children turned to look at their little cottage; it was too far away to shout out for help and they were too far in the field to run back quickly._

_Then—thump, thump, thump, went the noise—again!_

_The wind picked up and gave the children goosebumps all along their arms and on the back of their necks. They were very scared. As they turned to look at each other, the noise got steadily louder. The birds stopped chirping, the wind stopped whirling, and no warmth seemed to come from the sun._

_They were so frightened they were frozen in place, even as the noise got closer. The ground shook beneath their feet. The little girl told herself to be brave for her younger brother._

_Slowly, she took her brother’s hand and turned her head._

_Before she could help it, she let out a bloodcurdling scream. For there, running towards them through the grasses, was—was—was—_

“A MONSTER!!!” Zayn screams, bursting from the closet.

Three mouths open and scream.

The many blankets and scarves hanging off Zayn make it hard for him to see, but he can hear them alright.

Ruby, with her three teeth missing in the front, is squealing more than anything else; she’s always been a bit more difficult to scare, but now that she’s a self-proclaimed “big girl” she’s even more hard-pressed. Alfie, on the other hand, is terrified of everything. He might’ve been screaming before Zayn even got out of the closet fully. Now his eyes are big and startled.

But Liam; Liam was the loudest shrieker of them all. He had done his shrill cackle, the one he had perfected by now, after telling countless stories just like this one. Nevermind that Zayn had _told_ him, again and again, that the kids were too young, it was much too soon; because someone was inevitably going to be stuck on midnight snack duty when one of the twins came padding, barefoot, into their room, lips wobbling and saying that they couldn’t sleep.

And that someone stuck on midnight snack duty? Was absolutely not going to be Liam. Liam, in fact, was going to _ensure_ that he wouldn't get stuck on duty by sleeping like the dead and snoring loud enough that Zayn could hardly be expected to stay asleep, anyway.

Liam is still cackling, eyes crinkling at the corners, by the time Zayn throws the blankets and scarves off his head so he can see. Alfie’s curled up in Liam’s lap with his face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s clutching Snuggles, a stuffed puppy; poor thing’s hanging on at the neck by a thread. Zayn makes a mental note to stitch him up later. He turns to Ruby instead and she’s still squealing, mouth wide open and pink tongue pressing through the space in her gums where her teeth used to be.

“Dad! You weren’t scary at all!” She’s doubled over laughing, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to keep all the noises in but can’t.

“I wasn’t?” Zayn pouts, affronted. “Alfie thinks I was.”

Liam’s been reduced to chuckling now but he wipes the tears from his eyes all the same. He jostles his leg a little until the curled up bundle in his arms stirs.

“Love, did Dad scare you?” Liam coos, pressing the words into Alfie’s hair, dark and silky smooth and all askew with the way he’s scrunched up. Liam kisses his head a few times and rocks him gently. “Was Dad a big, evil, silly monster, hmm?”

Alfie grew out of his thumb-sucking months ago, but the look on his face makes Zayn worry whether he’s about to start again. So he crouches down and rubs his hands down the back of his head, down to the nape where the baby hairs are extra soft. Liam looks at Zayn and smiles, jiggling Alfie again. He’s got what looks like a death grip on Liam’s neck and is still refusing to turn his head even a little.

After a second of Zayn’s petting, Alfie says something but it’s too muffled to hear, pressed against Liam’s collarbone as he is. 

“Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” Zayn says softly. Liam catches his eye again and smirks this time, as if to say,  _This is your son_.

Zayn pretends not to understand the look and keeps stroking Alfie’s forehead.

Slowly, Alfie rotates his head so he’s no longer cocooned. But he’s still pressed into Liam. He blinks his big, brown eyes open and he’s so beautiful that Zayn almost starts. He looks at Liam just to find him looking straight back and he grins, hopes Liam knows that he’s saying, _This: these beautiful big brown eyes, is your son, too_.

Alfie sniffles a few times before he says, “Y—you was really scary, Dad.”

It’s tender enough to break Zayn’s heart, to be honest. Only: “Oh, Alfie! You asked for this story, remember?”

And he had; he’d stomped his little feet and demanded that Liam read the scariest story they owned. Never mind that they can never make it through to the end and Alfie always ends up wedged between Zayn and Liam in their bed in the middle of the night.

Curse Liam’s incredible storytelling skills and Zayn’s inability to ever say no.

When faced with the reality that he was, at least partly, responsible for his own demise, Alfie’s expression goes comically blank, the mask of the innocent. One hundred percent, he learned that from Liam.

“You did, little one,” Liam chimes in, chuckling. “It certainly wasn’t my idea. Or your Dad’s. Not even your sister’s.” Now that all of the excitement has died down, Ruby isn’t as interested in following the conversation. Her hair is unraveling at the end, the pigtails coming undone from where Liam had haphazardly done them earlier. Her dark hair is long enough to chew on, so of course she does. She watches her brother with bright eyes, gnawing on the end of a pigtail, before she decides that she’s no longer interested and runs off to the corner of the room where she had left her coloring. There’s a bucket of crayons and Ruby tips it over, careless as anything, scrambling after her favorite colors in glee as they roll across the wood on the floor.

“Daddy?” Alfie sounds wary, cautious of his own voice. He’s turned his head to watch Ruby scribbling on the huge piece of butcher paper that Zayn had laid down; by bedtime, it would be filled with drawing after drawing and Zayn would take it, fold it, and tuck it away somewhere special. Early the next morning he would always lay another sheet out.

“Yes, love?” Liam asks, bouncing Alfie a little in his arms.

“I think I wanna color now.” And just like that, Alfie’s got his voice back and he’s got his personality back. He’s only so clingy in desperate situations, like bouts of fear or being around too many new people at once. But he squirms now, eager to get out of Liam’s hold.

“Alright, alright,” Liam says, laughing as Alfie wriggles away. He scampers away and plops down beside his sister and immediately snatches three crayons at once, prepared to create a masterpiece.

There are some things about kids that Zayn has come to accept he will never understand.

“What do you make of that,” Zayn says in awe, shaking his head. He looks at Liam and clucks his tongue. “Left you high and dry for a Crayola. The nerve.”

Liam’s mouth drops open like he’s just realizing that. “The _nerve_ ,” he says, in his most put-upon voice. “How dare your son abandon my comfort?”

Zayn stands up and straightens his legs, wincing at where they were starting to go numb from kneeling. Bending at the waist, he stretches his hands down to the floor as far as he can and hangs his head, releasing some of the tension in his neck.

“How dare _your_ son,” he scoffs back, “wake you at 3am when he has a nightmare and needs a snack and another story to calm him down.” Slowly, he uncurls his spine so he’s standing up straight and he closes his eyes, feeling the breaths flow through him as he gets his balance again. He opens his eyes and flatlines his face. “Oh wait! That’ll be me.”

“Now wait a second!” Liam protests, hopping up off the floor. He winces, too, and Zayn revels in the fact that his knees audibly pop. “That’s not—it isn’t—”

“It is and you know it.”

“He gets me, too! Sometimes…hey, he got me that last time, remember? But I had that—”

“Nasty cold, yeah I remember.” Liam had hacked all through the night and by the time Alfie had shuffled into the room Zayn had already been restlessly tossing and turning. But instead of coming to Zayn’s side of the bed, Zayn had watched Alfie’s shape float over in the dark to Liam’s side where he had pushed his shoulder with his little hand until Liam had woken up and, with a wobble in his voice, Alfie had asked if daddy needed a “purple juice;” it’s what they always called their cough medicine when he or Ruby got sick. Liam had been delirious, jolting awake and trying to pull himself together but Zayn was faster. Mentally resigning himself to eating yet another late night grilled cheese, Zayn had pulled himself out of bed and scooped Alfie up, pressing kisses all over his face and telling him they were gonna let daddy try and sleep because he’d already had his “purple juice.” The sound of Liam’s head hitting the pillow was the last thing they’d heard before Zayn had shut the door and tiptoed them downstairs.

“Too bad that time doesn’t count,” Zayn says now, picking up all the blankets and scarves that successfully made him the monster for the day. “You were fucked out of your head, I’m surprised you even remember.”

Before he can pick up another blanket, they’re snatched out of his hands and tossed to the side. Liam’s arms wrap around him from behind and he steps in until they’re back to front, Liam’s chin hooked over his shoulder until he’s completely enveloped.

Zayn’s first thought is to pull away, to tell Liam they’ve got to set an example for _the children_ and clean up their messes. His second thought, however, takes his breath away and it’s— _oh._

“Are you—Liam are you seriously—”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, nosing under Zayn’s chin, “I’m randy.”

Zayn barks out a laugh and pushes his hips back again where yeah, Liam is not Totally Soft. He’s fucking ridiculous.

“You’re bloody ridiculous,” Zayn says, smiling despite himself and covering Liam’s hands with his own where they’re resting low on his stomach.

“No swearing,” Liam says, pecking along Zayn’s jaw. “Must set examples for the children.”

“Says the one with a hard-on in his trackies.” Zayn tries to stop his heart from fluttering but Liam is warm and big and secure and _hard_ behind him and their children are right there, the most precious things he’s ever seen and whoops, there goes his heart anyways. They’ll do this to him, these realizations about his life now; they’ll creep up his skin, catching him off guard and sinking their teeth in right where he’s most delicate.

He takes one of Liam’s cold hands and brings it up to his heart and he presses it there, hard, until it feels like it’ll slip right through his skin.

Liam hums, like he understands, and the sound vibrates through both of them.

“Can’t help it that I’m hard, watching you with our babies does it to me. How sweet you are,” Liam bends them both to the side, tightening his hold when Zayn tries to pull away from his kisses, “How accommodating,” he says, letting his kisses linger more, soft but firm, “and how patient you’ll be at ass o’clock when Alfie pulls your hair to wake you—”

Zayn laughs and spins around in his arms. Liam’s taller than him but not by much. Zayn curls his hands into the collar of Liam’s sweater and pulls him even closer, pulling him down. “If I can be that patient about that,” he says, roughing his voice up a little and sneaking his hand between them, down until he presses the back of it into Liam’s still-hardening crotch, feeling it swell against his hand. “How patient do you think I can be about this?” And he grips Liam, as hard as he can, so Liam yelps in surprise and jolts back. For good measure, Zayn stomps on his foot with his heel.

“You—you—” Liam starts, eyes big and mouth agape.

Zayn can see it, the swear that’s forming on Liam’s parted lips. “Ah!” He says, holding up his finger in warning. “You _must_ remember: the children _._ ”

Ruby and Alfie are so enthralled in their coloring they probably wouldn’t notice an elephant stampeding through the room. This is one of few activities that keeps both of their attention for long periods of time, so of course they’re encouraged to do it. As often as possible.

“I’m going to get you back for that, I hope you know!” Liam says, grinning and poking Zayn in the shoulder. “You little menace.”

“Whatever you say,” Zayn says, smiling to himself and going back to folding up the scarves and blankets. “I’d call us even. Actually, you know what? I’m pretty sure we’re out of the cheese Alfie likes. Could you pop round to the store?”

Liam groans. “You know I hate saying that.”

Zayn smirks. “I know.”

Liam throws a scarf at him, shouting, “Roquefort! Roquefort!” in his most pretentious accent, barely letting his mouth shape the sounds.

Zayn runs to grab another scarf and throws it back at Liam, twice as hard, and he’s laughing maniacally but he says, “Just say it normally, you heathen! Why did I marry you, again?” Because of course out of all the hundreds of thousands of cheeses in the world, Alfie would fall in love with one of the most expensive and most pompous. Zayn ducks just as Liam launches one of the wool blankets at him. It whizzes by his head, thumping against the floor. Liam runs to the other side of the room where the basket is with even more blankets, and while he’s bent over digging in it Zayn unfolds one of the larger blankets completely and, gently, sends it sailing. It does exactly what he wants it to and lands on Liam’s head, draping over him like a cloak.

“Ru! Alfie! Where’d Daddy go?”

Always attentive to their names at least, both little heads perk up to look at Zayn. Liam is still scrambling with the blanket but it’s too long and too heavy, so he’s flailing and can’t find the opening.

“There! He’s there, I see him!” Ruby exclaims, already running towards Zayn to latch onto his leg and point at Liam. Alfie isn’t far behind her, scampering over and smiling. Zayn bends down so he can whisper conspiratorially to them both, trying not to smile too wide at Liam muffling and still struggling.

“Ok, so on the count of three, we need to jump on Daddy. I think that’s the only way to help him. What do you think?”

Alfie nods his head and takes Ruby’s hand, as though to speak for the both of them. “Yeah!” he whispers. Ruby nods enthusiastically. Zayn stares at them both in the eye, so they can recognize the seriousness of their mission.

When they don’t flinch, he knows they’re ready.

“Ok,” he whispers, and he bends low, kicking his heel back like a runner at the starting line. “One,” both Ruby and Alfie crouch down low, following his lead.

“Two,” Liam has finally managed to get part of the blanket off, at least.

“Three!” Zayn shouts, and they take off.

Screaming and laughing, they all attack Liam until he’s forced to fall over, knocking into the basket and tipping all the blankets out so they’re covered in a soft bed of fabrics.

This is my life now, Zayn thinks, watching his children climb on his husband and seeing the sparkle in Liam’s eye as he acts surprised to be found. This is our life now.

 

* * *

 

Zayn's and Liam’s life is a collection of homes, of buildings, of shared flats and individual flats, cheap flats, nice flats; they’d lived, together and apart, for years in these homes.

The first home they shared was right after uni and it was one of the cheap flats. It was fine, nothing fancy, and it got the job done. But when the job was done it was really done, so then they talked of moving. One of the only stipulations they had both cared about, one of the only factors of common ground from which they both refused to budge when they were looking for a new flat, was that they’d be on the lowest level so they could have a garden.

One, Liam got fidgety with his hands too still, too clean. An allotment garden was all well and good, but sometimes Liam didn’t like lots of people in his space. He always ended up going to the allotment more than anyone else and after stumbling over apologies to one too many neighbors who were irate that he had started in on their own plots, weeding and seeding what wasn’t his, Zayn had made Liam swear that having their own garden would satisfy him.

Red-faced and sputtering, Zayn had recounted one night how Mrs. Ogunkoya had yelled at him at their door earlier, shaking her spatula at him, spittle flying everywhere, and warned him to get his “no good friend boy under control.” Her flowers didn’t need any pruning, thanks, and he’d take care to remember it. Liam had done his best not to laugh uncontrollably as Zayn told the story and he’d tried to cover it up with coughs and sage nods, until the anger had expelled out of Zayn like a steam and he was laughing; so Liam opened his mouth and laughed and both of them cackled like hyenas against the kitchen counter.

Liam had fucked him there, laughing and apologizing all the while, groaning that all he needed was Zayn and their own garden and he would be fine, he would, he _really_ would. Zayn had squeezed his eyes shut as Liam moved inside him and he had reached out to link their hands together and rub his thumb across the freshly tilled earth, the dirt on Liam’s wrist, like it soothed him somehow.

Two, long gone were the days when Zayn could smoke inside without a care. When they started dating, way back when, Liam would come over to Zayn’s dingy flat and he’d touch him for hours, would press him up on the windowsill and kiss him so thoroughly until Zayn thought he was going to melt with it, melt out into the night and the dim lights of East London behind him. When Liam had gone breathless with it, he’d pull away and say something about takeaway. He would bend over and pretend to retie his shoes while not so subtly adjusting the hard-on in his sweats.

Zayn would smile at him from under hooded eyes, still pressed against the window, and he would think to himself how ridiculous it was to be in love. The door would click softly shut behind Liam and Zayn would already be tapping out a cigarette, cupping his hand around the flame and watching it flicker in the reflection as he cranked the window open, exhaling smoke into the chill of the night. The thought would wash over him again, this being in love, and he’d hold smoke in his lungs until it made his eyes water and he couldn’t stand it.

Liam would come back minutes later and he’d smell like stale grease, curry, and the cold. He’d chatter on about who he bumped into on the way, how such and such building is closing down, and when was the last time Zayn had gotten his post because it’s all piled up in the box but _never fear_ , Liam would say, slapping the envelopes all down on the table with the takeout. He’d picked it up for him.

Carefully, he would unload the bags and open all the containers. The smell would waft over to Zayn at the window and he would smell balti mixing with the smoke in his nose; of course Liam got balti, and _of course_ he would now say, “Bet it’s nothing like your mum’s though, but I thought—I mean, if you don’t like it that’s— I also picked up—” and Zayn’s entire body would flood with heat and he’d tell Liam to come here, right now, and Liam would stumble over wide-eyed, still chilled from the cold, and Zayn would breathe smoke into him, would curl around him and pull him closer and press heat into him for so long until their food went cold.

They’d eat it on the floor, straight from the boxes, and afterwards they’d lay side by side and try to blow smoke rings. Liam’s were always much better than Zayn’s so after a while he’d stop acting like he could do it; like anything that Liam did well could ever make him feel bad. Zayn would curl their pinkies together and keep trying.

But smoking was a young man’s game and with each passing day it felt like Zayn was getting farther and farther away from “young.” So when it was decided that they needed more space than their current cheap flat allowed, one of Liam’s first criteria was that the smoking had to go outside. It would be a fresh start for them both. A new leaf, he said. Cleaner, he said. Nevermind that Zayn would often find huge dents in his cigarette pack, especially when business was slow for Liam and he was stressed, but he, graciously, let Liam continue pretending like Zayn was the only smoker in the relationship. Fine. A garden would be nice, anyways, and if Zayn reluctantly agreed to Liam’s demands whilst thinking about summer nights outside with him, looking up at the stars and chain smoking in the silence, well. So be it.

And third, kids needed a garden. They needed fresh air and space and sunlight and Zayn and Liam needed kids.

One day they were fine, rotating around each other in the morning like clockwork in the kitchen, falling into each other in the evening like second nature until it just felt like something was missing. They had always said they wanted kids, but when do you bring something like that up? They had known each other for ten years, dated for nine, been living together for seven, yet there was never a moment when it felt like “Ok, _now_.”

Actually, it was Sonia that did it.

Zayn had known Sonia for even longer than Liam, but not by much. He had met her in uni, back when he was still a quiet architecture student, determined to wallow forever in his self-imposed misery, forever the sad artist. She was a quiet art student, too, so as those things tend to go they became quiet art students together.

She was black and they were both one of very few sparks of color in their whole program. For this fact, maybe, they gravitated to each other; but Zayn likes to think that it was something about the way she did her hair, something about the way she carried herself that first caught his attention.

Sonia had kissed him once, at a party, and afterwards told him that it wasn’t because she was sexually attracted to him per se, but because she hated the idea of living her life never having done it. A kiss wasn’t what she wanted to do, exactly, but it was the only way she had known how to get her point across, just the right side of too drunk and her hair done up in a way that made her look more confident than she felt.

Ever since then, Zayn and Sonia had clung together like their lives depended on it. Sometimes Zayn is convinced that his life still does. Sonia is the friend he never actually imagined having but always dreamt about.

Of course, friends are good for putting us in situations where we would otherwise not be caught dead. Hence why, after uni when they lived in cheap flats blocks away from each other, Zayn with Liam and Sonia with her dog, yoga had suddenly become a thing Zayn “did” rather than vaguely thought about once, maybe twice, sometimes double-taking at a discount bin with yoga DVDs and thinking how nice it would be if he could make his legs do that; mostly for sex.

But the thing about Sonia was that she was also the devil. Once, under the pretense of filling out a job application, she had dragged Zayn along to the new-but-determined-to-survive yoga studio, to do some “relaxation and elongating.”

The only thing Zayn could imagine elongating was his hospital bill after he inevitably ended up in the emergency ward. But that first time he had shrugged out of his clothes and stepped into the extras Sonia had brought with her (of course she had) and done the damn thing. Turns out he actually sucked at it, but he liked it. Well enough to go again.

It became a routine: wake up, go to work, yoga, go home. Sunrise yoga on the weekends never had fuck all of a chance of seeing Zayn’s face, but he had been committed during the week. It helped him relax. It helped him elongate.

And although they passed by it every day, one day Sonia had stopped to watch the pre-natal yoga class. All of the moms with their bellies swollen and defined through tanks, they had still managed to move like their bumps weren’t even there, like they weren’t suddenly trying to determine how to navigate a shit ton more kilos of weight. Their movements were soft and open and Zayn had watched them move, thought about how it must feel knowing that everything you were going to do to yourself from here on out you’d be doing for two people. It was jarring.

“That’s insane,” he had said, breath fogging up the glass with how close they were standing.

“That’s beautiful, that is,” Sonia had replied. Eventually, one of the moms had scrunched her face up mid-chaturanga and mouthed something towards the instructor who had raised her eyebrows and looked towards the window. Sonia had gasped, snatching Zayn’s hand and rubbing her belly with the other, like they were simply another couple eager to spend unseemly amounts of money for the sake of birthing the perfect child. Zayn had laughed and gripped her hand and pulled them inside to their own class.

It was nothing, until it was everything. Weeks after that, out of the blue, Zayn had found himself toppling over from dancer’s pose and thanking Allah that he didn’t have a baby in his belly to fall on. The thought had hit him from nowhere but it was enough to make him pop back to his feet, to finish the rest of the class with the utmost concentration, his poses stiff but solid. He didn’t say a word to Sonia about it.

A bit after that, he had been walking home from the off-licence, tapping out a cigarette through the chill in his fingers, when a kid had barreled into him on his bike. The cigarettes had gone flying and Zayn’s knees had buckled from the impact. By the time he got himself together to lay out whoever had crashed into him, he whirled around to find that it was only a kid. A dumb, sniveling kid who looked like he was about a hair’s breadth away from crying. Under normal circumstances, Zayn would have picked the kid and his bike up and dusted them both off and sent them on their way. These, apparently, were not normal circumstances because in that moment Zayn had had such a surge of paternal affection it nearly knocked him over.

Shocked, he had stuttered his way through comforting the kid, telling him it was fine, nobody was hurt, look! even the bike’s fine, no damage, until the kid had reluctantly smiled, sniffling his way through a million apologies, and pedaled away. Zayn had watched him go until he turned the corner, still on wobbly wheels, and the cold air had struck him across the face like it meant it.

“Well fuck me,” he had said to himself. He forgot about the cigarettes.

The next time it happened, indignity of all indignities, Liam was there.

And Zayn wasn’t an idiot. He knew what it meant that he was suddenly attuned to everything baby-related, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t. It _scared_ him. The last time he and Liam had done something even remotely responsible was when they called Liam’s mum on her birthday. Granted they were hungover to high heaven and even raising their voices to sing Happy Birthday had made Zayn’s stomach roll. But still, they had done it.

So Zayn hadn’t mentioned his baby mania to Liam because he didn’t know how to mention it. How do you say “I’m ready to have a baby right now, with you, your baby, _our_ baby, forever and ever, ameen?” But more importantly, how do you say it when every bone in your body seems to be screaming at you that you’re not ready for it? Zayn had no clue. Which is why in the weeks after his baby mania started he was no closer to deciphering the situation for himself let alone putting it into words for someone else. Let alone putting it into words for _Liam._

But, somehow, he went through the motions of living while managing to ignore that he had a very specific and baby-shaped pressure on his chest.

They were at a dinner party when it all came to a head. It was a couple Liam had met through work; one of the advantages of working as a handyman and being so passionate about it on a personal level was that once you fixed something for people, they remembered it. They called you back and they asked you to fix something else. Eventually, it would happen so often that you’d actually get to know them as people and before you knew it you were friends. And there were all sorts of people, posh but nice ones; chill but twatty ones; ones that didn’t even speak English. When Liam took a job for the latter, they’d communicate mainly through hand gestures, demonstrations, and food.

It was Nate and Melinda’s dinner party. They were of the posh but nice variety. They had the sort of walk up that made Zayn drool, all burnt façade and imposing windows and since it was so massive each job Liam had done for them had taken months. It had gotten to the point where he’d come home and crack open a beer, kicking his boots off as he went, and drape his legs over Zayn on the couch to immediately go on about “Nate this” and “Melinda that.” By the time Zayn finally met them, he felt like he knew them.

He hated being around people sometimes, but by the time he had a few glasses of wine and had gotten to know Nate and Melinda better, he was happy that he came. And glad that he’d worn his hair down, for the way he kept catching Liam’s eye across the room as he watched him run his hands through it.

Soon, Zayn had been warm and full and laughing and sprawled across a sofa that cost more than he wanted to know. So he didn’t think anything of it when the doorbell rang and Nate got up to answer it.

At first, Zayn blamed how loud everyone was laughing and his own drunken haze for mistaking the sound. But then everyone quieted down a little and he’d heard it again. His whole body had seized up.

 _No no no_ , he had thought to himself, _this cannot be happening_. And before he could excuse himself to the bathroom, Nate’s voice had come flowing down the hall again with the just-arrived guests. Nate had introduced them to everyone, a man and a woman, but Zayn hadn’t seen anything over the bundle of blankets in the woman’s arms and he hadn’t heard anything but the gurgled and nonsensical noises of--

“—our baby, Noah,” the man had said, beaming like he’d never been so happy to speak a sentence in his life.

Whatever happened after that was lost to Zayn. He had jumped up, mumbling about needing the toilet, and made his way down the hall until he could shut the door behind him. His pulse had been racing and his chest felt tight. He gripped the sink and leaned over to look in the mirror at his expression. He looked shocked. He looked scared.

He looked like he needed to get his shit together, is how he looked.

There was a surge of noise from the living room and yeah, Zayn had thought hysterically to himself, that was definitely a high-pitched baby’s laugh. Someone was making the baby laugh. He had hoped to God that it wasn’t Liam. The thought alone had made his legs feel like jelly. He had to hang his head for a moment and take a few deep breaths. In, out.

He took a second to think about who he’d been before this baby obsession. He thought about spending hours, entire days on end thinking about work, his family, Liam, Liam, Liam. He thought about Liam and he thought about babies and he thought about Liam _with_ babies, in a context of yours, mine, and ours, and whoops, turns out that was enough to break the sweat out on his forehead again. He remembers regretting every single glass of wine he had had up to that point. Quickly, he’d wet a towel and pressed it to his forehead.

“Babe? You alright?” It was Liam, rapping his knuckles against the door.

Suddenly, a clarity had floated over Zayn like a wave. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Zayn had cracked open the door and Liam was right there, concern just barely touching his eyes and grinning, asking again if Zayn was alright. Zayn had never felt less alright in his life.

Opening the door wider, he had pulled Liam inside by the wrist so he stumbled forward a little and had looked him straight in the eye. He ignored the thrumming of his nerves and he said, clearly, “I want to have babies with you.”

Like he agreed, baby Noah had chosen then to squeal in delight from the living room. The next thing Zayn knew was that Liam had gripped him so tightly it hurt, but he had needed that. Without it he would have fallen down from sheer astonishment at his own fucking life, at hearing Liam say _yes_.

The process took a year, but immediately after that fateful dinner party they had begun applying to adopt. They visited the agency every chance they got, during the week and for longer on weekends. It took months before they found them, but when they saw them, they knew. Gripping Liam’s hand, Zayn had asked the nurse if she could tell them about the sweet little brown faces in the crib in front of them. She had said of course, that they were newborns of Pakistani descent, twins whose mother had passed away due to complications after childbirth, with no other recorded family.

Liam had held the girl in his arms and Zayn had held the boy and a year later, together, they’d brought them home to their brand new, first-level, non-smoking, garden-in-the-back-having flat. 

 

* * *

 

Liam’s kiss is short and sweet, his hand a soft pressure on Zayn’s waist. “If I’m longer than thirty minutes, send help. No telling what Ms. Martha will do to me if she gets me alone,” he says as he goes to open the door.

Zayn chuckles and tightens the scarf around Liam’s neck. He never covers up properly. “Mm, I know. She’ll dump you in a cheese vat and serve you with a fondue, for certain.”

Like most everyone in the village, Ms. Martha had taken an instant liking to Liam when they moved in. It didn’t help that Liam always charmed her within an inch of her life every time he saw her. Her cheese shop was the closest to their house and one of the latest shops open; obviously, it was their most frequented. Sometimes Zayn wished the twins were lactose intolerant just so they wouldn’t have to spend so much money on fucking cheese. “Be careful out there.”

“Be careful, Daddy!” Alfie squeals.

“Don’t bring back monsters,” Ruby says, her face comically serious as she crowds Liam at the door.

The frigid autumn breeze rattles through the house. Some leaves scatter across the floor, the deepest oranges and reds, and Alfie bends to pick them up.

“Daddy will be right back,” Zayn promises, pushing the kids away from the open air.

“Bye, chickens,” Liam says, making kissy faces as he closes the door.

Four big brown eyes look up at Zayn the moment the door is shut. He looks back and raises his eyebrows. “So! What should we do until Daddy gets back?”

Immediately, Ruby’s eyes light up. “Play!”

Alfie pouts, a characteristic Liam face. “I’m hungry.”

They start a chant of “hungry hungry hungry!” and bounce in circles around Zayn. Ruby must have been hoarding some of the crayons because a handful of them roll across the floor, spilling out of the pockets of her flapping dress. Zayn scoops them up before either of them can trip in their excitement and he tucks them in his back pockets. Ru will remember them later, and she’ll turn her big brown eyes on Zayn like he stole them from her, asking him where her crayons have gone. Zayn will have to huff and say something about responsibility and picking up after yourself, and he’ll have to do it with as straight a face as possible while dirty dishes line the counter behind him; it’s Liam’s turn to do the washing up, anyways.

Zayn shuffles Ruby and Alfie forward into the kitchen without any problem. The promise of food, at least, always seems to ease them into submission. Definitely also something that can be attributed to Liam.

The nice thing about living in an eighteenth century converted farmhouse is that the kitchen is unbelievably spacious. When they’d moved in, a solid month ago, Zayn was sure that there was going to be more to tackle in here but they’d found it in surprisingly good shape. Zayn has no idea what kind of farming the generations of families did that lived here before them, but they had it right when it came to the kitchen. There was a big farmhouse sink, pearly white, right under the massive window looking out over the garden. The island in the middle of the room was beautiful, an updated stained wood that matched the beams on the ceiling. The lighting still needs updating, just a lonely bulb that Zayn needs to figure out how to design around, but thankfully the entire side of the far kitchen wall is glass windows, opening into the sunroom that leads out into the garden. The hardwood floors are great though, charmingly burnished, and Liam had sanded them down a few days before they officially moved in so “no little feetsies would be getting any boo-boos.”

In other words, it’s a vast improvement on the flat they’ve just left behind, the first-floor, non-smoking, garden-having stunner that had housed them for four years. It wasn’t as hard saying goodbye to it as Zayn thought it would be, especially once he’d seen the kids’ faces when he and Liam brought them to their new farmhouse in the country and had told them excitedly that all this space they were running around was theirs now.

He gets the kids situated in their chairs at the island and he picks a knife from the drawer, yanking it stubbornly until it opens.

“And what kind of apples will you be having this evening, Miss Ruby?” He picks up both a green and red from the basket on the counter and he juggles them for a bit while Ruby bites her lip and thinks.

“Green!” She squeals, just as Zayn catches it out of the air.

“And you, Sir Alfred?”

Alfie doesn’t even like green apples; he’s always excited for them but always ends up taking a few bites before ultimately grimacing like he can’t believe he’s been fooled again. Plus, Ruby likes green. Zayn knows his answer before he even opens his mouth and he reaches to put the red apple back.

Softly, Alfie says, “Red, please.”

Zayn looks at him with wide eyes. “Red?”

Alfie looks like he’s going to hesitate for a minute. “Yeah!” he says, certain.

If that doesn’t just warm Zayn’s heart. The problem with being a parent, he realizes as he turns away to rinse the apples, is that you became a sap over every little thing. Zayn is used to making choices and having preferences about all sorts of things in life without a second thought, but sometimes he forgets that little humans have to learn how to do this. He tries to hide his smile in his shoulder but no such luck.

“Dad what’s funny?” That’s Ruby.

“Oh, nothing pet. Just thinking,” he says, cutting the apples.

“About Daddy?” Alfie chimes in.

“Why would I be thinking about Daddy?”

“You smile like that.”

Zayn’s face gets hot despite himself. “Do I?” Curse the astuteness of children.

“Yeah, like—” and Alfie puts his fingers in his mouth and pulls his cheeks apart, smiling as big as he can.

Ruby shrieks in delight. “‘cept more bigger!!” She puts her own little hands in her mouth and pulls her cheeks apart as far as she can.

“ _Bigger_ ,” Zayn corrects. “But I see,” he says, nodding along. “So like this?” Then he pulls his own cheeks apart and squints his eyes up, saying, “Cheeeeeese.”

Alfie and Ruby giggle hysterically. Zayn laughs along with them and tries not to be affected by the accuracy that yes, that is probably exactly how ridiculous he looks when Liam is around.

Still smiling, Zayn bops both of them on the nose. “Eat your apples, loves.” He turns away and leaves them to their chatter. There’s a hair tie on the counter that he snatches to put his hair up in a high bun.

The sun is just starting to set over the valley and a beam of light flows through the glass doors leading to the sunroom. Looking out at the garden now, Zayn can’t believe how massive it really is. Liam was obsessed with it; he had plans for just about every nook and cranny.

Zayn steps into the sunbeam and closes his eyes, letting its heat warm his face. The garden is all weeds--or what look like weeds to him. Liam is insistent that most of it can be saved and he even talks to the garden, bending low to caress the wild petals and whisper when he think Zayn can’t hear.“...just need a bit of TLC, don’t you, loves.” Zayn has no problem leaving him to it.

There’s a commotion from the island. Before he even turns around Zayn knows what it’s going to be. He wonders when being a parent turned him into a clairvoyant.

“ _Stop_ it!” Alfie sounds on the verge of tears. Ruby says something Zayn can’t make out but her tone is firm, bossy.

Usually when they’re fighting about something, Zayn will wait to see if they can hash it out for themselves before he jumps in. Liam is a bit more lenient, which must make for confusion when one parent answers your cries almost immediately while the other gives it a little time. But there are sharp objects close at hand so Zayn sighs and, feeling the last warmth of the sun, turns back around and walks to the island.

“Oooh, now now,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over them. “What’s this about then?” He looks at Alfie first.

Looking perturbed, Alfie says, “She won’t stop!”

“Shh, Ru, let your brother talk,” Zayn says, because Ruby was still going, determined to be heard. “She won’t stop what?”

“Taking my—my apples!” He whines, both hands planted flat on the countertop like he means business.

“Ruby, is that true?” Zayn asks, turning his attention to her. She’s annoyed at being caught out, evident in the way her bottom lip is poking out ever so slightly. Now that she has to speak she’s clammed up. She doesn’t look directly at Zayn, rolling her eyes all around the kitchen. Zayn follows her gaze down to her empty plate and over to the three apple slices left on Alfie’s.

Then she looks up and opens her mouth. “I—”

“Now you remember the difference between the truth and a lie, hmm?” It was a bedtime story, a few nights ago, about a puppy that lied to its mother and didn’t get any extra treats for dessert. Zayn had listened to Liam read it with an unsure expression on his face because that seemed a little extreme, but it appeared to get the job done.

At being reminded of the story, Ruby clamps her mouth shut. She starts pulling at her hair and wrapping it around her fingers— a nervous tic. “I remember,” she says, voice gone soft.

“Good. Did you take your brother’s apples?”

“YES,” Alfie shouts before Ruby can answer, startling her out of her calm state enough to widen her eyes and screech back, “No!!”

“Both of you hush,” Zayn says, raising his voice once again. “This is not how we talk about things. Now Ruby I asked you once and I’m not going to ask you again…”

The Trail of Deathly Silence. Named by Liam, it’s a tactic that Zayn has perfected over the years. It’s one that hasn’t failed Zayn yet and he’ll be sad for the day when the kids get to a certain age and it doesn’t work anymore. For now, at least, it’s one of the best weapons in his parental arsenal.

He watches the terror spark in Ruby’s eyes, her imagination no doubt running wild. If there’s one thing kids don’t like, it’s loose ends. In Ruby’s eyes, the punishment Zayn could have just around the corner on his next breath could be anything from no coloring for a whole day to an early bedtime.

Like an old Western standoff, Zayn and Ruby try to stare each other down from opposite sides of the island. Zayn thinks about the last time Ruby had acted up and been put to bed with the sun still out, trying to pass the memory into her through brainwaves. The only sound is coming from the wind tapping the branches against the roof outside, the bare bark scraping against the house.

Zayn nearly blinks. But not before Ruby does.

“Yes, Dad,” she says, all the fight deflating out of her.

Zayn twists his mouth against a smile and thinks _That’s my girl._

“And why did you take your brother’s apples?”

“B—because he eats slow,” she says, like it’s the most obvious reason in the world.

“But those were _his_ apples. You ate your apples, right? Alfie gets to eat his own apples, too, no matter how long he takes.”

Ruby makes a frustrated noise, like she knows this. “B—but Daddy takes your food _all the time_ and you never say stop.” She turns an accusing eye on Alfie.

Zayn starts. Fuck. He feels his face heat up as he’s once again brought to this slippery slope, the difficulty of explaining adult concepts to children. He clears his throat and he can feel the weight of both of their stares on him.

“That’s...different. I don’t mind Daddy taking my food. But if I said no, he would stop. Was Alfie telling you to stop?”

Ruby looks sheepish. “I guess.”

“Alfie, were you telling your sister to stop?”

Alfie nods vigorously.

“Okay, then. So you stop when he says stop, Ru. And you should ask before you just take something from someone else, right?”

Ruby’s eyes brighten up, like she’s just realized that perhaps her punishment won’t be as severe as she was dreading. “Right!” She turns to Alfie. “Sorry,” she deadpans. Personally, Zayn feels like she could sound sorrier but he’ll take it; he didn’t even have to tell her to.

In that rare beautiful one-track minded way, Alfie snatches an apple slice and pops it into his mouth like he hasn't got a worry in the world. “Okay!”

Before Zayn can self-congratulate on Another Parenting Job Well Done, the kids are both making noises and hand motions and laughing amongst themselves, in that twin language that Zayn will never understand.

“Little buggers,” Zayn grins to himself, the sound of it being drowned out by their giggles.

There’s the jingling sound of keys from the front door.

Simultaneously, two voices erupt in hysterics. “Daddy Daddy Daddy!” Their chairs are too high for them to get down by themselves, so the more they move to try and hop down, the more they scrape across the wooden floor. The sound is bad enough to mimic nails on a chalkboard. Zayn makes a mental note to do something about that, for fuck’s sake.

“Hey hey hey,” he protests, scrambling around the island to lift them out their chairs. “He’ll be right in, there’s no rush.”

“Isn’t there!” Liam proclaims, lighting up the room. Alfie and Ruby rush towards him like they haven’t seen him in weeks. He’s got the air of cold around him, evident in the pink of his nose. He shakes his coat and scarf off, scoops the kids back up, nipping playful kisses on their faces, and puts them back in their chairs. He walks over to Zayn’s side of the island with the bag of groceries and starts unpacking it, answering all their eager questions.

“What is that?”

“The cheese, love.”

“Why does it smell bad?”

“That’s just how it— hey, you wanted this cheese you cheeky devil!”

“Did you pet a dog?”

“Not a one.”

“Did you see a dog?

“No, and what a crime that is.”

“Do you like when Dad takes your food?”

Zayn snorts. Liam’s got the pantry door halfway open and glances at Zayn before turning back to look at Ruby quizzically. “When Dad takes my food?”

“Yeah,” Ruby nods, “When he—” and she mimics her action from earlier, swiping at Alfie’s now empty plate and chomping on an imaginary apple slice.

Zayn takes pity on Liam’s puzzled expression and laughs. “She stole some of Alfie’s apples earlier and when I tried to scold her, she _pointedly_ reminded me that I do the same thing to you all the time.”

Understanding dawns on Liam’s face. “Ohhh.” He stuffs the rest of the groceries in the pantry and stands behind Zayn, wrapping his arms around his middle and resting his chin over his shoulder. “That’s because I don’t mind when Dad takes my food.”

Ruby squints like she doesn’t believe him. “What if you said no?”

Liam shrugs. “Then he’d stop.”

“Really?”

“Really, sweetheart. That’s what adults do.”

Ruby’s eyes shine at that. There’s nothing that she loves more than finding out these little secrets about adulthood. “Wow,” she breathes out at the revelation. “Okay.”

“Were you being a parent without me again?” Liam whispers to Zayn, his voice not more than breath over Zayn’s ear. His lips are still cold from outside so Zayn curls away from it, but Liam’s holding him too tight to get far. “Color me impressed.”

“What do you want for dinner?” Zayn asks, trying to cut through some of the tension that Liam is bringing into existence simply with the timbre of his voice. Christ, but what has gotten _into_ him today. Liam also brings heat with him everywhere. It has always been one of his number one distractions, and one of the easiest ways to coerce Zayn into some sort of action.

Getting the hint, Liam laughs and steps away. “Does chili sound alright?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, already reaching for the ingredients. “That sounds good.” Liam asks him if he needs any help. “Yeah, actually. You can read the little demons a story and get their hands washed and sat at the table. Dinner should be ready by then.”

Liam gasps and covers his mouth in dramatic surprise. He turns to the kids who’re looking at him expectantly. “Did you hear what your Dad called you?”

“What!?” Alfie and Ruby say at once.

Liam leans across the island and puts a hand up to hide his words. Zayn would be disgusted if he weren’t so charmed. “He called you... _little demons!_ ”

“I’m an angel!” Alfie says. This was also a new concept, angels and demons, that they’d learned thanks to a very insightful book about good and evil.

“Hmm, I’m not sure…angels like to listen to their Daddy read them books.”

Like a starting pistol was fired, both sets of chairs start scraping madly on the floor in the kids’ haste to get down and show just how angelic they are.

“Christ, those chairs,” Zayn mutters. Liam laughs his agreement and scoops the kids out, shuffling them towards the living room.

After a while, when the chili’s simmered enough, Zayn calls to Liam that they can come back in now. Then he can hear the kids down the hall, arguing about whose turn it is to wash their hands first, followed by their off-key voices as they sing a song Liam made up about being clean and angelic and good for Dad who worked so hard to make a good dinner.

Zayn lets himself smile all through getting the plates and setting the table but he makes sure to school his face back to normal when they come barreling back in. The kids seem to be in some weird competition about who can be the most angelic so they sit down immediately, hands in their laps and eyes forward. They both say thank you when Liam sets their cups down in front of them and when Zayn sets Liam’s wineglass down in front of him, Liam catches his wrist and kisses the back of his hand, says, “Thank you, darling,” and smiles at Zayn’s embarrassed look.

“Shut up,” Zayn says, blushing furiously and turning away to bring the chili pot to the table. It’s been years, but every day with Liam feels like the first time. Every moment with him is fresh and tinged bright and new, like it could never grow old. The way Liam makes him feel is settled. Sure. At home.

Liam starts serving the chili into bowls. Alfie and Ruby have already started up again, somehow talking about nothing and everything at the same time, and Zayn nods and murmurs along with their stories without missing a beat. He slides down in his seat just a little, until he can reach with his foot and hook his ankle around Liam’s. Liam had been mid-sentence telling Alfie to be careful and try not to make a mess, but his breath catches at Zayn’s touch. It’s fine because Alfie wasn’t listening anyways, spooning chili almost deliberately out of his bowl and onto the table.

 _Love you,_ Zayn mouths, feeling like an idiot and a sap and like he’ll melt right into the floor.

Liam smiles and doesn’t miss a beat, acting appropriately shocked at hearing what Ruby learned today in her book on zoo animals, but he slides his foot closer to Zayn’s and he lets it rest there.

 

* * *

 

After uni, they had all started living their lives.

Zayn had become an architect.

Liam liked working with his hands so he’d gotten a mechanical engineering degree, worked at an office for two months, then quit, finding work with a small handyman company that had let him, “Actually _do_ something, Christ.”

Louis, Liam’s twatty roommate who soon became his twatty best friend, and Zayn’s, had become a sports publicist, bouncing around from team to team until, funnily enough, he'd ended up back with his hometown team, the Rovers.

Niall, a business management student, had shared a few classes with Liam and ended up opening his own pub after graduation, buying out the loft space above and converting it to his flat.

Harry, Niall's random roommate turned best friend turned boyfriend, co-owned the pub and cohabitated with him. His anthropology degree wasn’t really put to use everyday, but he did have some art classes with Zayn and he was Louis’ best friend from childhood.

But before they were all these things, they were just five boys trying to make it day to day.

Niall and Harry, before they were Niall & Harry, held a party every year called Midsommarfest. Ridiculous as they were, they couldn’t just call it a barbecue and let it be. True to its name (despite the dumb spelling) it was always held in the midsummer, a nice addition to the June calendar and a lovely welcome into the season, a celebration for the end of exams. Their incredibly shitty flat was saved only by an incredible rooftop deck with stunning views of the city. It was supposed to be an open space, to be used by everyone, but the whole building knew that day in June it belonged to Niall and Harry. They’d get as many chairs as they could—ratty deck chairs, beanbags, stolen desk chairs——they’d eat on thrifted plates and overturned crates, someone would have set up fairy lights plugging dangerously into various extension cords reaching back into the building, and Liam would have a corner right at the roof’s edge for his DJ setup.

When Zayn meets Liam it is here, at Midsommarfest.

Zayn didn't even want to go. Because of his architecture program, he had to work through the summer unlike everyone else who fucked off to who knows where without a care in the world. So he was broody, overworked, underpaid, and horny as hell.

It had been a shitty week. All of his design proposals had come back with dismal reports, his professors more concerned with practicalities rather than following his wavelength down abstract, unconventional paths. Harry hadn’t shut up about Midsommarfest all week, something about how this year was going to be hugely different, this DJ he like...was _amazing_ , some of the best tunes Harry had ever heard; that had made Zayn pause, because Harry’s ear for music was as keen as they come.

But after sitting through a meeting where Zayn was told, in specific terms, that his professors worried he was almost “ _too_ creative, you see, for the—the _clientele_ we have in mind,” and after his “well fuck your clientele” response, all Zayn wanted to do was have a smoke, a nap, and a bath: preferably all at once.

And he’d been set, too, jaw tight as he walked home and turned the corner towards his building, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, until two sets of arms had snatched him and nearly tripped him up on the pavement. It was a flurry of limbs, Harry’s and Niall’s, Zayn cursing up a storm but not loud enough to matter over their own protests. He caught bits and pieces of what they were saying but his brain was still in overdrive with his professors' comments in his ear.

“Shit week, I know” that was Harry. “—nothing for it but a drink, and I’ve got just the thing,” Niall. “—never missed a Midsommar before mate, fat chance we’re letting you—,” “—an hour, tops! You’ve just got to hear—,” “Jesus, the bones on you! There’s plenty to fatten you up as well, so cancel your dinner plans—” and on and on they went until Zayn sighed as heavily and dramatically as he could and did what they wanted: he let his frustrations slip away from him and down their arms around him, sinking into them like weights they wanted to carry.

“There you are,” Harry whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple and they all went marching down the street.

Niall and Harry have lots of friends. By his second drink, Zayn had met at least half of them there at the party. For a while, he tried to play a game with himself of “Who’s Whose?” where he’d stand and observe someone before deciding if they were Harry or Niall’s friend. Then he’d make himself go talk to them until he found out who had invited them, who they’d known first. So far he hadn’t been wrong yet. It was a game of total chance, usually just requiring a keen eye for what they were wearing, how they held themselves, what they were drinking.

 _I’ll show you ‘too creative’_ , Zayn thinks to himself, heading to the snack table to peruse who he still hadn’t met. The sun had long set and the only light was coming from the fairy lights draped haphazardly over poles and awnings, the soft flicker of jar candles placed somewhat precariously on the ground. So later, Zayn would blame the little light, the whisper of onset London fog, for why he didn’t recognize who else was at the table. The guy’s back was turned and he was fiddling with his plate with what seemed to be more food than would be advisable. He was wearing a muscle tank, deep arm cuts down to his middle, with a flannel tied around his waist.

Zayn smirks at that. Definitely Harry’s friend.

Confident, he approaches the table from the other end and snags a beer from the open cooler. The ice chills his fingers immediately and the air is no longer warm enough to soothe the sting quickly.

“You can get more than one plate, you know.”

Startled, the guy stiffens and nearly drops his full plate, scrambling to keep it upright. “Oh, I— didn’t want to waste…”

“Nah it’s all good,” Zayn assures him, and his hair is still shaved short then, clean around the sides but long on top, so he runs his hair through it, pushing it off his forehead. “They’ve got loads extra, each year they get like way too much of everything.”

The guy is still trying to right himself and hasn’t turned to look at Zayn fully. Zayn takes a pull from his beer and squints, trying to see his face closer, but the dim fairy lights aren’t doing him any favors, not doing anything but casting shadows, on the sharp cut of his jaw and the slope of his nose. He’s obviously flustered, but Zayn can’t remember the last time spilling food at a party was on par with total humiliation.

He sets his beer down and grabs a stack of paper plates, walking closer to the guy. “Here, you can just…” and he waits, gesturing for the guy to go on and take them.

Hesitant like he’s afraid Zayn might bite, the guy sets his plate down and straightens up. He’s a few inches taller than Zayn, which he wasn’t expecting, but his profile is stunning enough to knock every other thought out of Zayn’s head for a second.

The instant he turns to face him, Zayn knows exactly two things at once: one, exactly why this guy looked so familiar: two, the way his breathing stutters like he’s forgotten how. It’s not quite warm enough for the tank that the guy is wearing, but he’s pulling it off anyways. He extends his arm for the plates and it’s a gentleness to contrast the muscle behind the movement, the sheer definition there. Zayn must have let the plates go even though he can’t remember untensing for it, because the guy gives a “cheers” and goes back to claiming all the food for himself. Apparently.

Zayn’s about to say something, tripping over various starts that don’t seem quite good enough, but thankfully he doesn’t have to.

“I’m Liam, by the way,” the guy says, in between stuffing grapes in his mouth.

Zayn isn’t sure why he didn’t piece it together sooner. Harry’s mad ramblings about a new DJ, Zayn knowing what the name started with but thinking it was Lucas or something, the signature flannel tied around his waist, probably the same flannel albeit it in a different light and much closer up.

The night that Sonia had kissed him, in a dark corner at a sweaty house party, she had blamed Liam for it. She had backed away gently from the kiss and left Zayn blinking at her, silent. She had stroked his cheek and, shrugging, said, “It was the song. Something about it made it feel like the right thing to do.” Puzzled but charmed, Zayn had grinned and took her hand from his face, kissed her wrist, and led her away from the party and out of the house.

Zayn had looked towards the DJ right before the door slammed shut and led them back into the night, but all he had gotten was a glimpse, of knotted flannel and the glistening slickness of sweat on a thick neck. Zayn had squeezed Sonia’s hand tighter and regretted that he couldn’t tell the poor bastard; his song had got him a kiss.

But here Liam is now, and he’s so beautiful Zayn doesn’t know what to say at all, let alone give his thanks for a random moment that will mean nothing to him anyway.

“I’m Zayn,” he says back. The neck of his beer bottle is dripping condensation but he holds it tight as he takes a pull from it. “You’re the DJ, aren’t you?”

Liam looks surprised. “Yeah, I—how’d you know?”

“I saw you, last year. Some house party off Sutton, near The Laurels?” It was the only reason Zayn had gone to the party, it being so close to the art building so he and Sonia could get pre-pissed off whiskey while finishing up their projects and stumbling over.

“You were there? Oh, mate.” Liam shakes his head, like even just thinking about it hurts him. “That was terrible.”

Dumbfounded, Zayn stares. “It what?”

Liam is nodding, making a little sandwich out of the ham, cheese, and crackers on his plate. “Oh, it was shit. Nothing came out right. Something was up with the speakers they gave me, like, the bass wasn’t good?” He stuffs the mini sandwich in his mouth and keeps talking through it. “People didn’t really seem to be feeling it either.”

“This might be a case of ‘the master knows best,’ but I thought you were brilliant,” Zayn says sincerely. And he did. Zayn can remember, through a vaguely drunken haze, that for all of the party’s other faults, the music had not been one of them.

“Did you really?”

“Yeah, it was sick. As far as the people, they’re all jackasses anyways.” Them mostly being art-types, Zayn can safely talk shit about them, being a part of their clan and all. “They only like it when you play music so soft that it can’t be heard at all or like...late 80s Swedish trip-hop.”

That gets a laugh out of Liam, and Zayn is glad it did. “Is that right? And what do you like?”

Zayn’s not sure if it’s the alcohol buzzing through him or what, but the way Liam says it sounds a lot flirtier than it needs to be. Than it _should_ be, with all of two minutes conversation between them. Flirting is not something Zayn does a lot, but he’d like to think that he could recognize it if it nudged him the right way.

“R&B, mostly. Hip-hop, some local rock bands here and there. Some select hipster music, I’m not ashamed to say. I joke about the Swedish trip-hop but if it’s good, I’ll have a listen.”

Liam just murmurs and nods, like he’s assessing what Zayn said. He stuffs another mini sandwich into his mouth and for a minute there’s no noise between them. The noise from the rest of the party drifts back into Zayn’s consciousness, the raucous sounds of Niall and Harry taking turns to tell a story that has everyone cracking up. They’re huddled over by the couches, Harry sitting on Niall’s lap like it makes physical sense for his gargantuan body to be there.

Just then, Liam makes a noise and Zayn turns back to look at him. He’s moved on to the candy dish and is shoveling M&Ms into his hands and popping them in his mouth like he can’t get enough of them.

“You missed the supper,” Zayn realizes, Liam not having been at the party earlier when Niall passed around a massive pot of spaghetti. “Is this your supper, then?”

Liam grunts. “Oh, I just, I have this thing where like, I get nervous so I’ve got to keep my hands busy. Eating helps, and so does talking actually so thanks for—coming over.”

But Zayn is stuck on the being nervous part. “Nervous? I don’t think you have anything to worry about with this crowd.”

Everyone Zayn’s met has been just as easygoing and relaxed as he’d expect Niall and Harry’s friends to be.

“They’ll be into it, definitely,” he assures him.

“You reckon?”

“Yeah, mate. You should have heard the way Harry’s been talking you up, it’s like he banked the next Tiesto.”

Liam laughs and his face scrunches up.

“I’m serious,” Zayn says, laughing as well. “How do you know him anyway?”

“I don't actually; he’s mates with my flatmate, Louis Tomlinson? D’you know him?” Zayn shakes his head no so Liam keeps going. “Lou put us in touch. He gave Harry one of my mixes without telling me, which—I don’t do big parties, is the thing, I just kind of tinker around in my room in my spare time. But Lou swore that Harry was good people and it would be more practice than like...pressure.”

“Harry is good people, and so is Niall. Your Louis was right.”

“And their friends? How are they?”

There’s that tone again, floating over to Zayn with the barest hint of suggestion. Liam gestures to the roof at large when he says it but he doesn’t lose his eye. Zayn smirks and takes his time before answering, letting the alcohol weigh down his lids a little.

“Well, you know. Some are good. Some are better.”

Liam smiles slowly at him and looks like he’s about to respond to that when of course it’s then that Harry wants to get his flat ass off Niall and come find the DJ. He’s pissed enough that he barely acknowledges Zayn when he walks over, dragging Liam away and talking about how excited he is to hear his set and look, they’ve got the corner all set up for him.

Zayn eats Liam’s last cracker sandwich then finds a spot on one of the ratty couches, tries not to think about the many possible things that are hiding in it, and makes friends with the other people on the couch, two girls who turn out to be in Niall’s business program. The sun has finally set so the only lights for Liam’s backdrop come from the London skyline behind them. Niall is wobbling around on unbalanced feet, giggling and lighting more candles around Liam’s set-up.

It takes Liam a while to get situated, knotting and unknotting his flannel and taking a few more swigs from his beer. More people are starting to arrive, now that the real party portion of Midsommarfest is set to begin. Zayn’s attention is drawn by the people milling in from the roof door, trying to see if he recognizes anybody.

“Testing, testing,” it’s Liam at the mic and it’s louder than he thought it was going to be, if his momentarily wide eyes are anything to go by. “I’m um, Liam. Thanks for having me Harry, Niall. My set is a bit dancey, a little bit dirty, but very, very smooth.”

He goes to start but then scrambles back for the mic. “Oh, and for all you Swedish trip-hop lovers out there...sorry.”

Zayn laughs and it makes his eyes crinkle. Liam starts his set so he tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When they found out that Liam’s Great-Uncle Alfred had died, Zayn and Liam were at Midsommarfest.

It was the first year they had gone since having the twins, and it was harder than Zayn had thought to let them go. It was the longest they had been without them since they’d been adopted. They’re only three years old but they’ve already got such big, marvelous personalities.

They’re in Trisha’s front garden, packing the car to get on the road to Niall’s and Harry’s and trying their best to say goodbye to the kids.

“Now, mum, _please_ don’t give Ruby any sweets. You’ve got to watch her,” Zayn was throwing his and Liam’s bags in the car but watching Ruby digging around in Trisha’s coat pocket.

“Oh you’ve found it!” Trisha coos, pulling out a lolly and giving it to Ruby, who lights up and grabs for it. “Don’t listen to your dad,” she says, adjusting Ruby on her hip. “He never liked sweets when he was your age.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Zayn sighs, exasperated. Then he remembers that he won’t actually be there to have to handle the inevitable sugar rush fallout and bites his tongue.

“You’ll regret that later,” Liam says, laughing and coming up from behind Trisha with the rest of the bags. “She’ll be bouncing off the walls.”

Trisha just clucks her tongue and pokes at Ruby’s belly until she giggles. “I think your Granny has had enough experience with kids and candy to know a thing or two about when enough is enough.” Ruby smiles dopily around the green candy in her mouth. “Thank you very much,” Trisha adds, looking at Liam haughtily.

Liam raises his hands. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.” He steps closer and nuzzles into Ruby’s neck, pretending to mouth at the lolly. She giggles and he smooths the hair from off her forehead. “This one’s a little monster, aren’t you?”

Liam turns to Alfie, who is determined to catch one of the butterflies flitting around. He runs on unsteady legs and every time he falls, he looks baffled for a minute, betrayed by his own person, before a tiny pair of wings flutter in front of his face and he smiles, righting himself and reaching for them. The next time he falls, Liam runs to him and scoops him up and swings him around, peppering kisses all over his squealing face. “But this one’s a monster too, aren’t you love?”

Zayn laughs and slams the car door shut. “Stop calling our children monsters.”

“I’ll stop when they do!” Liam shouts, but his voice is choked under Alfie’s tight grip on his neck.

“Well they’re my monsters now,” Trisha says, beaming at the two of them. “You two go off and do whatever it is you do at these things.”

She knew about Midsommarfest, but after she had called Zayn once in uni and he had drunkenly answered right after three particularly cheap tequila shots, he had slurred and stuttered his way through an apology before she eventually cut him off with a “Don’t die for fuck’s sake” and they had never talked about it again.

Now, she asks no questions at all but the look she gives him makes Zayn feel like a kid in uni again.

Fondly, Zayn rolls his eyes and brings both her and Ruby into a crushing hug. “Thanks again, mum. You’re an angel.” Trisha just clucks her tongue but she blushes, tilting her head up anyways to receive Zayn’s kiss.

“And you, little girl, best behave yourself.” Zayn plucks Ruby out of Trisha’s arms and cuddles her to himself, feeling the warmth of her little body pressed against his neck. “I’ll miss you, pet,” he whispers in her ear.

“Pet!” She squeals, staring right at him with her big eyes. “Bye bye!” This is one of the newest phrases that she’s mastered, so obviously she says it all the time.

“Bye bye!” He says back, tweaking her nose and giving her back to Trisha. “Now mum, I’m serious about the sweets. She’ll be up all night.”

“Oh, hush you,” Trisha says over her shoulder, walking over to Liam. “Let’s go say bye to Daddy now, hmm?”

Still blindsided by butterflies, Alfie comes running in Zayn’s direction and nearly collides with his knee, too busy grasping at the too-quick wings.

“Woah little man,” Zayn says, scooping him up from under the arms and holding him on his hip. “Don’t hurt yourself while we’re gone, alright?” Alfie looks up at him as if to say “but you’re not a butterfly…” Instead of saying anything, he reaches his hands out and pushes Zayn’s cheeks together so his mouth pouts out. Zayn helps him out and moves his mouth like a fish, until Alfie is giggling. There’s snot dribbling from his nose that Zayn wipes with his sweater sleeve.

“Mum,” he calls out, “make sure you watch Alfie’s nose too, I think he might have allergies out here.” As if on cue, Alfie sneezes. Not polite enough to cover his mouth nor being old enough to care, Alfie laughs at the sound of disgust Zayn makes and what must be the look on his face.

“You’re lucky I like you, mate,” Zayn sighs, setting Alfie down and reaching in his back pocket for a travel wipe. It’s second nature to carry them around now, no telling when they’ll be needed.

The sun is just starting to dip beneath the clouds, which means that soon it’ll be dusk. He and Liam have about a two hour drive ahead of them and Zayn knows that the longer they linger, the less likely they are to leave. He can feel it now, in the way he wants to sit in the grass and watch Alfie chase butterflies, the way that he wouldn’t even blink an eye at the idea of getting his clothes dirty like he might’ve before.

He can feel it in how he knows that Ruby prefers Liam’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to his own, how he would happily sit with Ruby and watch Liam prepare two sandwiches with the most love possible, one for him and one for Ru, and they’d all sit and eat them together, Liam stealing bites of his and Ruby devouring hers until she was a peanut butter and jelly mess.

No, Zayn says to himself, snapping out of his daydream. This will be good for us.

Watching Liam attempt to do cartwheels with the kids says otherwise, but nonetheless Zayn gets in and starts the car. He gives his mum one last hug and another set of instructions (Alfie needs as many toys in the bath with him as possible, Ruby will empty the whole tube of toothpaste on her little brush if you don’t watch her, and for _Christ’s_ sake no more sweets) and watches Liam give the twins one last hug and kiss before he pulls him by the hand to the car. They get in and wave goodbye from the driveway, shouting their “Bye byes!” until even Alfie is joining in, and they’re on the freeway in no time.

For a long while, they don’t say anything, but Liam’s hand grips Zayn’s over the console and it’s like an anchor, keeping Zayn grounded.

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly midnight, everyone is countless drinks in, and Zayn is laughing when Liam gets the call. He remembers it distinctly because he was laughing at Niall, telling one of his stories. Zayn’s head was too fuzzy to follow along directly but that was fine because Niall was stumbling through his story anyways, starting and stopping at various threads, each making him laugh more than the last.

It was Niall’s face that had done it because, suddenly, it had fallen. He was looking over Zayn’s shoulder and he looked terrified. Zayn had enough time to feel his own panic set in, sloshing through the drunkenness, before there was a pressure on his neck and he was spun around.

It was Liam, falling into him. He was sobbing, and Zayn will never forget the particular brand of fear he had felt right then. Liam wasn’t loud, but the panic in his movements and Zayn’s sent a hush over the crowd. Niall, bless him, acted without hesitation and shuffled everyone off the rooftop and down the fire escape.

The sudden quiet was deafening, but nothing was louder than the sounds Liam was moaning into Zayn’s neck. As soon as Liam had fallen into him, Zayn had moved them as best he could to one of the couches, swathed in soft candlelight.

“Baby, what’s wrong, what is it, shhh shhh what’s wrong,” Zayn had no idea what he was saying, but with how tight Liam was holding him he knew he had to say something. He had to say something that would ground them both, because he was scared enough that it felt like he’d evaporate out of his own skin. He ran his hands down Liam’s back and scratched against the muscles there, hoping that the pain would direct Liam into some kind of action, anything but this, this raw energy that felt like, if Zayn let it, it would surge up and strangle them both. Liam clutched the back of Zayn’s head and soon his collarbone was soaked through with tears.

When Liam finally spoke, his voice was shot to hell. “It’s Uncle Alfred. He...he died.”

Zayn had seen Liam cry plenty of times, had seen him upset and angry and beside himself, had even caused a few of those episodes. But looking into Liam’s face now, Zayn feels like he could easily take any of that over this.

“Oh, my love,” is what he says, and his voice cracks.

Liam’s face is horrific, smudged and red and looking aged. Zayn cups his hand to Liam’s cheek and Liam closes his eyes and turns into it, tears falling steadily. He takes Zayn’s hand in his two trembling ones and kisses his wrist, the back of his hand, and clutches it to him.

“Oh, my love,” Zayn says again, not knowing what else to say, to do, how to be, and Liam starts crying afresh then, clutching Zayn’s hand like he’s lost without it. Zayn physically pulls Liam down onto the couch, until he’s horizontal with his head in his lap, pressing his tears against his stomach. Zayn cards his fingers through Liam’s hair and he looks out over London and tries to let his breathing go steady.

Uncle Alfred was Liam’s Great Uncle, but had been a father to Liam when he had none. Zayn had only been around him a few times but even once was enough to know why Liam loved him so much. He was a lovely, charismatic old man and so much of him was in Liam.

Once they started dating in uni, they would spend a week in summer at Alfred’s estate at the coast. He lived on a lake so there was always plenty to do, but often Zayn would find himself on the shore with Alfred, both of them reading and sunning lazily near the shade of a tree. Liam would be jet-skiing or wakeboarding and Zayn would usually find himself rereading the same sentence in his book, not being able to tear his eyes away for too long from the water glittering off Liam’s body, the way he could see how pert his nipples were even from the shore.

Once, Alfred had been calling Zayn’s name to no avail and ended up throwing his novel at his head. Sheepish at being caught out, Zayn had stammered out an apology. But Alfred had only laughed, long and hearty, and adjusted his sunglasses, saying that he remembered what it was like, to be young and in love. Zayn’s face had flooded with heat and he’d excused himself to take a dip in the lake.

Liam had seen him and swam to shore, looking like a fucking merman, and asked something about a turn on the jet-ski. But Zayn had cut him off and stepped into him, pressing their chests together, and licked into Liam’s mouth with his face still burning. Behind him, he could hear Alfred cheering.

Now, with the breeze chilling Liam’s wet tears on his sweater, Zayn thinks about that moment. He thinks about every memory Liam has shared about growing up with Alfred, how amazing it was for him to find a home elsewhere when his own home situation was less than ideal. He thinks about how afraid Liam was to come out to his family but how supportive Alfred had been, how he had listened to Liam’s fear then told him, whatever else the rest of his family might say, he would always have a family in him. He thinks about long nights working on draft proposals in one room when Liam would be in the other, holding long conversations with Alfred and occasionally stopping to run in and share something funny he had said.

He thinks about Alfred’s face, and Liam’s face, when Liam had told him their son’s name for the first time. He thinks about family and how Liam has always taken care to make his own, has made, with Zayn, the most beautiful family imaginable. Zayn wipes the tears from Liam’s face and he thinks about immediacy and cruelty. He feels a burning hatred for every inexplicable thing that could ever hurt Liam.

“I am so sorry,” he says, and it cuts through the night. He’s not sure how long they’ve been sitting there but Liam isn’t stirring anymore. Zayn looks down and sees him fast asleep, still clutching his hand with the other balled into a fist on his sweater. Eventually, it’s Harry that comes back. Softly, so Liam won’t stir, Zayn whispers to Harry what’s happened. The words don’t even feel real dropping from his mouth. Harry just nods and says that Niall’s kicked everyone out so the party’s gone, and why don’t Zayn and Liam come sleep in their bed and get some rest.

“No, I,” Zayn chokes out, suddenly feeling immensely tired. “I don’t want to move him.”

Harry stares at him for a while until he nods again and runs back inside. When he comes back up, he’s got an armful of blankets and pillows.

“Thank you,” Zayn says, but he feels sleep calling him already so he worries he didn’t actually get it out. Harry hushes him and starts humming something, soothing and warm. The last thing Zayn remembers is being adjusted, his head cushioned, and Liam curling even more into him as Harry drops a blanket covering them both.

 

* * *

 

For days after Alfred’s death, Zayn spends a lot of time afraid.

Like most things, it starts with Liam. Not so much fear of him, but fear on behalf of him. Zayn is used to the full spectrum of Liam’s emotions, but nothing could have prepared him for all the ways that Liam’s deep sadness was the worst of them. By far the worst. It’s not that he doesn’t know if Liam will ever get out of it, because he will. He does so slowly, in increments, and Zayn can see it in the way Liam will walk by and brush a kiss to the back of his neck, will call him “babe” again, but distractedly.

It’s a long drive to the funeral at Alfred’s estate on the coast, and Zayn drives the whole time. He feels strung taut and his hands pinch the wheel the entire trip. He tries to talk, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know anything.

Zayn feels like from the second Liam got the call until now, he’s been a phantom, floating along behind and trying to pick up the pieces, place the pieces, fucking anticipate the pieces falling before they do.

The morning right after, Liam had woken up and walked, still half-asleep, back into the building and straight into Niall’s and Harry’s bed. Zayn had been awake for an hour before that, just watching Liam’s face. When he made sure he was sound asleep again, he’d arranged everything. He called his mum and she shushed him when she started to cry, said of course she would keep the kids and explain the best that she could. He called Liam’s mum to get the details for the funeral, and when she kept talking through her tears, voice tight but determined, he didn’t mention it at all. He called his boss, Liam’s assistant, and everyone else that needed to know. He sat at the kitchen table with Niall and made calls until his voice cracked and Niall forced him to down two cups of tea, some buttered toast. He threw on a hoodie and drove into town and bought suits, shoes, and pocket squares. He threw the suits in the car and jogged across the street to the off—licence and bought cigarettes and stood on the corner and smoked three back to back, like he was in uni again. He bought extra pants, aftershave, and paracetamol. He got in the car and started the engine, stared out at the shoppers bustling about on Sunday morning without death clinging to every part of them, cut the engine, and ran back into the off-licence where he bought two bottles of Glenfiddich.

In the car, he pulled straight from one of the bottle’s and the sharp sweetness of it nearly cut his throat on the way down. By the time he drove back to Niall’s and Harry’s, the sun was hot on his knuckles as it beamed down, the cold wind whipping through his hair through the open windows. He pulled in the driveway and got everything out of the car and dumped it on the floor of Niall’s and Harry’s bedroom, suits and all, and sighed.

He looked at Liam, awake, but still curled in the cotton of the bed, and tried to make his face scream anything but _Am I doing this right_ and _Please tell me I’m doing this right_ and _I hate every single part of this but mostly I hate what it’s doing to you_.

* * *

 

The funeral happens. It’s fine. Everyone breathes through it. Nobody screams but nobody laughs either. Liam’s hand is clammy every time it reaches for Zayn’s but Zayn presses their palms together anyways, lets himself be pulled along, lets all of the necessary condolences fall from his mouth, lets himself forget everything that isn’t Liam, that isn’t about getting rid of that sad twist in Liam’s mouth, the blank look in his eye. They’ll have done it by now, the Reading of the Will, and when the attorney says Liam’s name and the massive amount of money behind it, inheritance from Alfred, Liam’s hand will clench around Zayn’s but neither of them will say anything.

Eventually someone, a distant cousin of someone or other, will speak a toast and it will be one toast too many. Liam’s eyes will have glazed over. Zayn will let himself feel the heat from Liam’s body, _really_ feel it, the slightest hue in a sea of melancholy, everything black and void and finite, and Zayn will excuse himself from the table, will run two fingers up the inseam on Liam’s trousers, and will head to the restroom. He’ll splash cold water on his face and rub his eyes with the ridiculously plush monogrammed towel, and the door will swing open behind him. It’ll be Liam, and their eyes will lock in the mirror. There will be nothing but heat between them. Zayn will have just enough time to drop the towel before Liam is on him.

“ _Yes,_ ” Zayn will hiss through his teeth, and it feels like the first honest thing he’s said in days.

Liam will pull his hair and bite into his neck and it’ll be like the energy in him has nowhere to go. Liam will spin him around and press him into the counter and kiss him, almost violently, but Zayn will want it, will take it over the ache that’s been in Liam’s voice, the set of his shoulders, all over his face, so he’ll respond just as violently and he’ll bite Liam’s tongue and slide his thigh between Liam’s knees and he’ll push against his groin, so hard that it has to hurt, but Liam will just moan and bite back.

“Thank you,” Liam will say, and it’ll be the last thing Zayn expects to hear.

“You don’t--”

“ _Thank_ _you,_ ” Liam will say again, and the force with which he had started will leave until they’re just standing there, tethered to each other and breathing. They’ll kiss and Zayn will wonder if this is how people get through these things, tied to familiarities in each other when nothing else makes sense.

 

* * *

 

There’s something sticky on Zayn’s hand and, for a minute, he has no idea what it is.

That terrifies him, because he was just going to put his hair up but he paused with his hand midway to his head when he realized two of his fingers were stuck together. Horrified, he looks at his hand and peels the fingers apart. Light brown? Viscous? Jesus Christ, what could...and then he remembers. Oh. They had waffles and syrup. Well, Alfie and Ruby had waffles and syrup, Zayn corrects himself as he scrubs the syrup off under the kitchen sink. He and Liam had, maybe, a whole bite between them in between scrambling with everything else.

“ _Please_ keep your shoe on, now you know we don’t—” Liam’s voice floats down the stairs and Zayn has to smile at it. Then there’s a crash.

Part of the reason why the morning going-to-school routine takes so long is because Liam is too gentle. The kids always run to him the second they eat, because they know they can get away with distracting him, delaying the inevitable walk to school, and if they’re lucky, coerce him into doing a funny story or piggybacking them around the house. And Zayn’s fine with it, really, because in other situations he’s the soft one. It ends up balancing itself out, with the kids basically playing them like fiddles. In the end everything gets done and everyone gets where they need to be.

Eventually.

“What’s all this noise I hear, then?” Zayn calls as he walks up the stairs, drying his hands with a towel. He tries to sound stern but he worries that the smile in his voice gives him away. Thankfully, four year olds have yet to reach that level of perception because the only one smiling when Zayn turns the corner into the kids’ room is Liam. And even he has the courtesy to look a little sheepish.

“Dad!” Alfie says with big eyes, like he wasn’t expecting him.

Zayn picks up a handful of stuffed animals off the floor. “Who left these out?”

Without hesitation, both Alfie and Ruby point to Liam. Liam immediately protests.

“Hang on a second! We were all playing with them! Ru, you said you wanted to take Teddy to school today.”

Of all the things that can charm Zayn to bits and pieces, one of the highest on the list is still the high-pitched cadence of Liam’s voice whenever he’s put out by his own children. Teddy is, in fact, not a teddy bear, but an oversized duck, nearly the size of Ruby, and he used to be her favorite toy but the affection seems to have dwindled lately. So Zayn highly doubts she was planning to take him with her. He raises an eyebrow at Liam.

Ruby’s looking at Liam like she’s never wanted such a thing in her life.

Liam sighs and takes the animals from Zayn. “Well _I_ left them out, I suppose.”

“Yeah, Daddy did,” Alfie supplies.

“Mm, I can think of two other little someones who probably played with Daddy,” Zayn says.

Now that the offending toys are actually put away, of course Ruby chooses now to speak up. “Yeah, we were playing school. Teddy and Susie were walking the small ones.”

“Like how me and Daddy walk you?”

“Yeah, but, yeah, but...slower.” Alfie gets distracted by everything on the walk to school, the worms crawling in the dirt, the horses swishing their tails lazily in the sun, trying to skip over every stone possible; it’s not so much that they walk too fast, but that there’s just so much to see and Alfie can never get enough of it.

“Well thank you for finally speaking up, cheers,” Liam says, rolling his eyes lovingly at them both.

“Welcome!!” They say in unison.

And this, Zayn realizes, is why they’re always late. He looks down at his watch and sees that they have less than 20 minutes to get to the school. “Ok,” he claps his hands. “Raise your hand if you’ve brushed your teeth.”

“Already done!” Liam says, crossing his arms over his chest and beaming.

Zayn makes a pleased face. “Ok, umm… raise your hand if you’ve gotten your lunch.”

“Done and done. Snatched them off the counter when your back was turned.”

“Well well well,” Zayn says, impressed. “Aren’t we just Mr. Prepared.” Zayn walks closer and peers down at Alfie and Ruby. “Let’s see here,” he says, walking in circles around them and inspecting. “Looks like everyone’s got their heads, two arms, two legs. How many toes in these little shoes?” He taps their feet with his own.

“Ten ten ten ten!” They say, giggling and squirming away from his much bigger feet.

“Hmm,” Zayn says, still circling and sounding skeptical. And then it hits him. He looks at Liam and smirks. “Raise your hand,” he starts, and both kids look up at him with their hands already open and expectant, “if you’ve gotten,” Liam looks smug as hell which will only make it so much sweeter to see his face when it, inevitably, “your field trip permission slip” falls.

“Aha!” Zayn says, snapping his fingers. “Knew it!”

Both Alfie and Ruby raise their hands anyways, falsely assuming that Liam would never let them down like this.

“Bollocks,” Liam swears, but not softly enough. “Oh I mean! Rats!” He slaps his knee and clucks his tongue. “One of these days I’ll get it all.”

“No you won’t,” Zayn says, laughing and wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck. “It’s alright, old man. We can’t all be as perfect as me.”

“We sure can’t,” Liam says, but the way he says it is too deep, way too heavy, for how much of a lie it is. So Zayn just smacks the back of his head and ignores his “Ow!,” turning back to the kids.

“Ok, downstairs, coats on, at the door ready to go in 2 minutes: GO!”

Instantly, they scramble to get their things. Liam runs downstairs to get the permission slips and Ruby has her backpack straps twisted so Zayn makes her stay still so he can watch Alfie help her. Damn, he raised his kids right.

The staircase is old and narrow and it creaks under normal circumstances, but with children stampeding down ancient wood it sounds more like death will soon be coming for them all.

“Oi, be careful!” he calls out. It might not be intentional, but Ruby keeps tripping Alfie up in her haste to get to the bottom of the stairs first.

“I win!” She says, leaping from the last step to the floor. But Alfie hung his coat properly on the coat rack the day before, so all he has to do is meet Liam at the door and put his coat on while Liam slips the permission slip in his bag.

“No I win!” Alfie declares, voice muffled by his hood falling over his face. It’s still loud enough to carry into the living room where Ruby is searching frantically for her own coat.

Zayn follows her in. “You see what happens when you don’t put your things back properly?” he asks, and it stings. He hates having to be the one to do this, he really does, but someone’s got to do it and he’d rather it be a lesson learned at home than anywhere else. If he doesn’t look directly at Ruby as he says it, well—nobody has to know. Least of all her. She’s running to each corner of the room, checking under the couches and in the toy chest, and even runs to the garden doors for a second, contemplating that her coat could be anywhere out there.

After a minute, she pleads for Zayn to help her and he sighs and gives in. There’s the tail end of a bright orange sleeve sticking out from one of the couch cushions that is decidedly out of place against the navy material.

Wanting her to find it, Zayn walks over to the couch and plops down. He crosses his legs and whistles, like he hasn’t a care in the world. Ruby had turned her attentions toward the kitchen, but she runs back in when she hears Zayn whistling.

“Dad, help!” She says, hitting Zayn’s knee. Zayn just keeps whistling and cuts his eye dramatically to the side, knowing that Ruby will follow. As soon as she sees the orange she gasps.

“There it is! I found it!”

“You sure did, babygirl,” Zayn says, and sometimes, he thinks, this is how you have to Parent. With as patient and giving a heart as possible.

Ruby pulls the coat out from between the cushions, lord knows how it got so wedged down there, and puts it on. Zayn wants to hear it, but that doesn’t make it any less precious when Ruby calls over her shoulder, “Thanks Dad, sorry Dad!” as she runs to her brother and Liam at the door.

“You’re welcome,” Zayn smiles, catching up to them. He slips her permission slip into her backpack while Liam opens the door.

“It’s a _blustery_ one today, chickens! Keep those zips up tight!” Zayn has to roll his eyes at Liam, always one for dramatics. But the kids love it, and they do at least double check that they’re zipped all the way to the neck.

The autumn sun is barely warm, but it’s bright against all of the land sprawled out before them. As soon as the door is open, Alfie and Ruby leap out into the world.

“Wait for us,” Zayn calls out, watching them run down the driveway as Liam locks the door. And fuck, it is actually pretty cold. Zayn _brrrs_ as Liam clicks the lock into place and they both walk down the driveway.

“You cold?” Liam asks. Zayn watches Liam’s breath in a cloud between them.

“Fuck do you think,” Zayn answers, and it feels amazing being able to swear, the word making him feel giddy. “Maybe you should ask my balls instead.”

Liam laughs and unwraps his own scarf easily, wrapping Zayn in it and pressing a long kiss to his temple. “I’d enjoy that, I think.”

Zayn wraps one frigid hand in the knot of the scarf and pulls Liam closer to him around the waist. “I know you would, old man.”

Liam stops walking and turns to kiss him for that. His lips are chapped and cold already, but Zayn sighs into it and it warms him from the inside out. It’s the first proper kiss they’ve had all morning so it feels like the start of the day. Everything else beforehand was mad chaos, rushed but calming in its order, in its routineness, but this at least, the first kiss of the morning, feels like the center of everything. Liam never let them separate for the day without it.

Their faces are cold but their mouths are warm and Zayn regrets it the instant he pulls away. “Hello,” he says against Liam’s lips.

“Hiya,” Liam says back. He pulls away fully and glances at the end of the driveway, where the kids are passing the time crouched and picking in the dirt. “Ugh, not again. This’ll be the second time they go with dirt under their fingernails.”

Still linked around the waist, Zayn starts walking them down the driveway. “Pretty sure I spent every day in preschool with dirt on some part of me.”

“Were you a dirty boy,” Liam pants against his ear, and Zayn pinches his side for it.

“Not as dirty as you, apparently. Plus, the teachers love our babies. The whole school bloody worships them, so there’s no chance of a little dirt being a problem.”

Liam nods and smiles, watching Alfie dangle a worm in front of Ruby’s face. Unsuspecting, she pops her head up and it wriggles against her nose. She screams and falls backward but she quickly picks herself up and scans around for something to terrorize Alfie with next. Alfie at least has the decency to drop the worm and back away.

“Little monsters, I swear.”

“ _Our_ little monsters,” Liam clarifies. “Which one do you want today?”

Zayn thinks for a second. “Alfie, I think. I feel like walking slow.”

“Good call,” Liam says, and he leaves from Zayn’s side and takes his body heat with him. Zayn only misses it for a moment, because then there’s Alfie, running up to him with what seems to be a new worm and an exciting story already on his lips.

Liam scoops up Ruby and piggybacks her and they go on up ahead, but Zayn lags behind a little with Alfie. As most mornings, he’s full of questions and Zayn has no problem answering them. Of the many incredible things about being a parent, one of the best things is this, he thinks, being able to see the world in fresh eyes and take wonder in everything. Zayn smiles down at Alfie and tries to follow along with his scattered thoughts and he lets heat from the autumn sun propel them forward.

 

* * *

 

The nice thing about being an architect is that working from home is never an issue. When the kids were babies and they were still all cramped in the city, it was easier to stay at home than try to afford a sitter. Sometimes, Trisha or Karen would come for the odd week or so, if Zayn absolutely needed to be in the office, but there was only so long one could suffer living under the same roof as one’s mum again. Let alone one’s mother-in-law. So Zayn would stay home with the kids and work as best he could with some cartoon constantly going in the background. Most days Liam would come home for lunch and they’d all eat together and it would be perfect.

Now, Zayn still works from home when he can. After he and Liam drop the kids off at school, they part ways.

Liam walks the next few blocks over to his business, Paynefully Handy, a charming yet still atrocious name that Zayn had laughed at for far too long when he’d heard it the first time. It was Liam’s dream, to own a business, so once they’d moved to the country he had made it happen. He had bought an old abandoned shop in town and fixed it up, had gotten a utility van and had Zayn paint _Paynfully Handy_ across the sides in huge, artful letters. The money from Alfred’s inheritance had helped in so many ways, and when they’d done a ceremonial ribbon cutting in front of Liam’s new storefront, the kids cheering madly, Liam had teared up and said that he wished Alfred could have seen it.

Part of the reason they moved to this village when they’d gotten Alfred’s inheritance was because there was a branch of Zayn’s architecture firm here. A tiny branch, but a branch all the same. It was only a few blocks away in the opposite direction from Paynefully Handy.

That was something Liam had pointed out the first time they visited here, had snuck away from the city to look at the house. Liam had found the house, had combed through online ads for weeks before he found something he actually wanted to see. So they’d left the kids with Sonia for a weekend and had driven down to see it. Liam drove and had swung them through town first, pointing out of the window to Zayn’s architecture firm then pointing out how, “Hey—that would be a good place to buy, wouldn’t it? That old shop there? Spruce it up a bit, start my business?” Liam had nudged Zayn’s shoulder going “Eh? Eh?” over and over until Zayn had nearly thrown him out the window, demanding that they go see the house already.

And Zayn had always thought he’d be content in smaller spaces, in city dwellings, but when they’d pulled out of town and driven down the dirt road, stopping at an incredibly large, well-kept, 18th century farmhouse, well.

“ _Fuck_ me,” was the first thing he thinks he had said. Liam had laughed and tugged him along inside the house so they could explore.

They had such visions for it, immediately. They’d walked through slowly, slackjawed, trying to take everything in. It was ridiculously expensive for what they were getting, but Alfred had left Liam an inheritance so large that it’d hardly dent the account. And they’d _still_ have some room to play with, to renovate and design and create.

“I knew you’d like it,” Liam had said, arms crossed and leaning against the wall as he watched Zayn move with wide-eyed wonder through the house.

Zayn could hardly catch his breath for how excited he was, how _itching_ he was to turn this house into a home.

He did blow Liam though, back in the car, pulled over onto the side of the road at dusk. The car was nearly too tiny for it and he’d had a terrible crick in his neck, but when Liam had come, smiling, down his throat, it’d felt worth it.

Now, Zayn walks back home and remembers that day, their huge decision to pick up life in the city and move to the country. He lets other thoughts roll through his brain, as they usually do on his morning walk. He wonders whether the kids really did get all of their things, what additions he needs to make to his current project, whether he’ll need to send Liam to the store to pick up anything for dinner; and it’s thoughts like these that carry him back home.

They’ve only been in the house for a little over two months now, but it’s been long enough that Zayn knows that by the time he leaves the village proper and gets back on the country road, Mr. Clarke will be walking his dog Buttons and Zayn will get a greeting from them both. By the time he’s halfway back, Norah will zip by in her van, waving her chubby arm out the window and heading into town to deliver the post. And if he’s lucky, by the time Zayn walks all the way back down the lane to his house, there will be a lamb wandering around at the edge of the property, having escaped somehow from the Cooper’s farm up the hill. If this happens, Zayn will sigh and pick up the protesting creature, talking soothingly to it, not unlike he would do when he’d cradle Alfie and Ruby, and he’d drop the lamb back in its pen where it would happily run away from him.

All of these things happen, barring the lamb, on Zayn’s walk back home today and not for the first time, he’s struck by how different it is to live in the country. How almost foreign it is, having all of this quiet and open space to feel at ease in his skin, not like in the city feeling like he’s susceptible to any and everything.

It’s nice, this familiarity, like he has something he can hold onto, that his kids can hold onto.

It’s warm enough now that Zayn can open all of the windows when he gets inside. He even ditches his jumper, which just leaves him in a loose tee and his denims, holed at the knee but he refuses to get rid of them. The house feels completely different without the life injected by two four-year-olds, but the silence is perfect for letting Zayn center on his work.

Because of the renovations they’re doing on the house, Zayn’s office still isn’t completely finished. He works from the dining room table and prefers the lighting in there anyways, flowing in easily through the massive back windows and doors leading to the garden. He’s just finished shoving a stray toy aside so he can put the final touch on a design when he hears the sound of the front gate pulling open then clanging shut. 

“Zayn, you home?” It’s Liam. Zayn had no idea the time had gone so fast.

“Yeah, in here,” he calls back, looking down at his watch to see, sure enough, it’s going on one o’clock. Christ, but he loves days like this, where work doesn’t even feel like work. He stands up and closes his eyes and cracks his knuckles, his neck, stretching his legs out.

“Hey.” At Liam’s voice Zayn opens his eyes. He’s standing at the top step into the room and his grey t-shirt is stuck to him, a darker shade than it was when he put it on this morning. There’s paint smears on his jeans and his boots are already half unlaced, like if he takes them off fully he’ll be too comfortable to go back to work. His forehead is glistening slightly and his muscles seem more defined, pronounced like they are only after a hard workout or strenuous job.

Just looking at him is enough to make Zayn feel sexier by default.

“Hey yourself,” he says, walking towards him and kissing him briefly before walking into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I had no idea what time it was.”

The kitchen is still in a right state from this morning. He opens the pantry and peers in, trying to decide if he can make something good enough and fast enough for both of them. “There’s leftover something or other in the fridge, I know.”

Liam opens the fridge and bends down to look at it. “This pasta salad is still good, I think.” He opens the container and sniffs at it before offering it to Zayn to sniff. Zayn shrugs. “Alright then.” Liam sets it down and plucks two bowls from the cabinets.

“Do you want bread?” Zayn asks. There’s a loaf that’s threatening to go bad at the edge of the island. “I could do some olive oil, parmesan, and toast it?”

“That’d be brilliant, thanks.”

Zayn rips the bread in pieces with his hands and Liam sits at the island with his bowl. He slides Zayn’s bowl to him.

“How’s your project coming along?” Liam’s shoveling pasta in his mouth faster than is probably advisable, but Zayn is well-versed in Liam-speak.

“Ehh,” he says, drizzling oil over the bread. “It’s coming. They want to go with this new developer, some dick with more money than he knows what to do with. But like, remember that junkyard? Near the river? All that material there, someone’s got to be able to do something with it.”

“Mm, mmhm,” Liam nods, stabbing at his pasta. “Did you suggest that?”

Zayn sucks the olive oil off his thumb. “Not yet, but I’m going to. Shame to let all that material go to waste. It’s a community center for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t it be as much a part of the community as possible?”

“Definitely.”

“Remember we used to smoke there, after class?”

Liam catches his eye and winks. “How could I forget? You, a masterpiece, and all that beautiful junk around you.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn laughs, and turns to put the bread in the oven. “I was trying so hard to impress you back then.”

Liam squawks around the fork in his mouth. “ _You_ impress _me?_ Jesus, Zayn, I nearly pissed myself every time you looked twice at me.”

Zayn crosses to Liam’s side of the island so Liam can feed him the bite he was about to take. “Mmm,” Zayn murmurs his approval. “I wish you would’ve.”

“What, pissed myself?” Liam asks, taken aback.

Zayn shrugs and picks up his own bowl, sitting down on the stool beside Liam. “Why not? It definitely would’ve gotten my attention a lot faster.”

Liam laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. “Oh, you liar. Your head was so far up your own ass you wouldn’t have recognized me if I had a sign stapled to my forehead.”

Zayn smiles because it’s true, but he keeps his head low and directed into his pasta bowl. He was a right pretentious fuck. But he doesn’t say anything, and they eat in silence for a minute. The timer on the oven goes off so Liam gets up to get it. Zayn watches him bend over, the curve in his back and the distinct line of where he had sweat down his spine, and he remembers, vividly, being twenty-two years old and feeling like he would do anything, anything at all, to see every part of Liam that he’d allow.

“Looks like you worked hard today,” he says instead.

Liam drops the pan on the counter between them and shreds parmesan over the bread. “Yeah, today was officially customer number 7.”

“Woo!” Zayn cheers, shaking his fist in the air. “Babe that’s great!”

“Thanks,” Liam says, grinning from ear to ear and looking for all the world like an accomplished little boy. “It was pretty straightforward, just a touch-up painting on an old bed and breakfast. It’s off one of the side roads, I can’t remember which...Rivington, maybe? But it was good. Nice old couple who live there, we’ll have to visit with the kids sometime. They have a garden in front and in the back that’ll probably need some sprucing up once the weather picks up, so they’ve written me down for that.”

“Brilliant. How is Kev?”

Kevin was, so far, the first and only person Liam had hired on for Paynefully Handy. The design Zayn had done on the truck, bold letters in a catching font, had caught his attention. He was eighteen and bored out of his mind in a sleepy little village with no hobbies but being good with his hands. Word traveled quickly in the village, so before long Kevin knew where Zayn, Liam, and the kids lived and he had shown up one night, just in time for dinner, nervously wringing his hands at the front door and asking if, by any chance, Liam was looking to hire on any help? They had invited him into dinner and before the night was over he was playing hide-and-go-seek with the kids like a pro. The next day, he met Liam at the office bright and early and he had been with him ever since.

“Kev’s good,” Liam says now. ”He’s thinking about signing up for some classes at the community college.” 

“Oh really? Good for him.”

“Yeah. I’m proud of the little shit, I must say.” Liam grabs a glass off the counter and runs it under the tap until it’s full. Zayn watches him as he gulps the water down in one go, eyeing the way his throat works to get it all down. Liam clinks the glass down on the counter when he’s done and takes deep heaving breaths. A breeze comes through the open window and rustles the kids’ drawings hanging on the fridge, fluttering ever so softly through the loose collar at Liam’s throat.

Zayn pushes his empty bowl away from him and, deliberately, raises his hands to the bun in his hair and pulls it out. He’s been thinking about cutting his hair but he’s glad that he hasn’t yet, if only for the way Liam’s eyes immediately get dark when he shakes it out and it falls to his shoulders. Liam’s muscles tense from the way he’s clutching the edge of the island.

They might not be in uni anymore, but Zayn has never shaken the feeling that he has to impress Liam. That he has to be good for him, better for him, constantly evolving in a way that makes Liam feel as special as possible. He can’t help it. If he could fluff his feathers, he would.

When Zayn speaks, his voice sounds just as deep as he expects it to. “Are you going back to work now?”

Eyes hooded, Liam looks straight back at him. “In a bit, yeah.”

“Well you can’t wear that shirt back. It’s filthy. Take it off.”

It’s more or less what Zayn wanted to say from the moment he saw Liam and could see the dents in the grey that meant the cut of his abs, the dips where sweat had made them slick.

There’s the barest hint of a smirk on Liam’s face, but it’s there. For a minute, the only sound in the room is the buzzing of a bee that’s wandered in, lazily spinning circles in the corner, and Zayn wonders if he’s going to have to say it again, changing the tone of his voice this time. But then Liam steps back from the counter and he crosses his arms at the hem of his shirt and, not breaking eye contact for as long as possible, he pulls it over his head and drops it to the floor.

There’s nothing but tan, unmarked skin there and, like always, the sight of Liam’s bare body makes Zayn’s dick twitch in his pants.

“What about my boots?” Liam asks, voice scratched like he’s already had a dick down his throat.

“Those too,” Zayn says, nodding down at them.

They’re easy enough to get off, Liam toeing them and kicking them to the side. He takes the liberty to get his socks as well. Every move he makes highlights even more the drying sweat on his skin and the idea of it makes Zayn’s mouth go dry.

“My jeans?” And Liam is too easy, face bright and earnest like he has no idea what’s happening but the peak of his nipples, the bulge at his groin, say otherwise.

Zayn leans back from the counter so Liam can see him better and he palms himself with his hand at his zip. He bites his lip and pumps his hips into it involuntarily. “Yeah, the fucking jeans too,” he breathes out.

Liam clenches his fists at his sides and looks from Zayn’s hand to his face, back down to his hand, his face, and he slowly unzips his jeans. They’re low enough that the band of his pants sticks out and Zayn can see just the barest hint of hair, coarse and thick, curling out and inviting. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, but he knows that he can’t wait much longer.

With Zayn’s eyes on him, Liam pulls his zip down all the way and pushes his jeans open until Zayn’s attention is only at the thick cut of his cock in his pants. Liam brushes the back of his hand against it and groans at it’s being trapped between his pants and the taut planes of his stomach.

“Is there anything else you need me to do for you?” He asks, leaning back against the counter and spreading his legs even more.

That’s what Zayn was waiting for.

He stands up and walks around the island between them, walks until he’s standing right in the open V of Liam’s legs, and Liam’s slumped against the counter so Zayn looms over him a little, but a little is all he needs when he leans down to talk against his ear.

“I need you to touch me,” Zayn says, and he brushes the words against Liam’s ear and he skates them around, mouthing at his jaw, his neck, the corner of his mouth.

Without hesitation, Liam palms his ass and pulls him even closer.

“Touch you how,” he asks, and he’s not really kissing, but he’s moving his mouth across the stubble on Zayn’s chin and rubbing his face against it.

Liam thrusts up and it rockets through Zayn, his cock filling out almost painfully in his jeans. Zayn moves so that he’s straddling Liam’s thigh instead, and the second he gets his dick lined up with the hard muscle of Liam’s thigh he has to grind down on it. Liam’s watching him with his mouth slack, and the glow of perspiration is back on his forehead.

Zayn leans forward and runs his tongue across Liam’s plush bottom lip, bites at it and pulls back. “Touch me like you fucking mean it.”

The words are barely out before Liam’s kissing him, keeping him in place with his big hands on his back, roaming under his shirt, his tongue insistent and heavy in his mouth. Zayn can’t concentrate on how to move other than to melt completely into Liam, to trust the weight of his arms keeping him steady, but he does have enough mind to pinch his nipples, pulling at them at the same time he bites at his lips.

Liam hisses and thrusts his hips forward again, harder this time. He wraps a hand in Zayn’s hair and rubs his thumb across the nape of his neck. They’re kissing so lazily, in only that way you do when you’ve been married for seven years and you’ve got nothing left to prove. But still, Zayn can never get over the way Liam’s body always responds under his hands, just as eager to please as the rest of him. He slides his hand over his heart and it pumps out to meet him. He squeezes his biceps that are wrapped around him and Liam groans and flexes, so Zayn does it again, loving the way the muscle pushes against his hands.

Liam pulls Zayn’s hair until he’s forced to tilt his head back, to turn his neck so Liam can tongue there. His lips are rough and he’s panting out harsh breaths.

“God, you taste delicious,” Liam says, physically rocking Zayn on his thigh. “Feels like ages since I’ve had you to myself.”

Zayn smiles and rubs at Liam’s cheekbone with this thumb. “I know the feeling.” He moves his hand down so he can flutter his fingers against the waistband of Liam’s pants, so he can watch Liam’s mouth part slowly open. “I know this, too,” he continues, finding the head of Liam’s dick in his pants and rubbing his thumb across it. Liam spreads his legs even more and Zayn can feel where he’s starting to get wet. It’s enough to make him swear and surge forward and kiss him again.

Liam’s always been patient, sometimes unbearably so, but patience isn’t really what Zayn needs right now. So he pulls back from the kiss and pulls Liam’s jeans down to his knees, snags his pants next and pulls them down far enough just until his cock pops out, fat and heavy already. He kisses Liam again, quickly, then he sinks to his knees until he’s eye level with his dick. The smell nearly knocks him sideways with lust.

“Liam,” he groans, nosing at the base of his cock, licking around his pubic hair. And it hasn’t even been that long, but it feels like forever. Children have a tendency to take up all your energy, so when they get moments like this, alone, it’s hard to decide what to do first. And Zayn can tell that Liam is waiting for him, with the way he’s still clutching the counter and letting himself be teased, not even making noise when Zayn traps him back in his underwear and mouths at him through the cotton.

But Zayn knows him better than that. So he leans back on his folded knees and he looks up at him. “What do you want?”

Liam huffs out a laugh. He takes his cock in his hands and runs it over Zayn’s mouth, taps it against his cheeks. Zayn closes his eyes and turns his head to follow it, praying that Liam will let him have it. “Jesus, Zayn. I want everything,” he says.

“Don’t be greedy,” Zayn chastises, pecking a kiss to the tip of Liam’s dick where he’s holding it pressed to the corner of his mouth.

Liam swallows and presses his dick there again, so Zayn opens his lips around it and sucks, just popping the crown in his mouth, before he slowly pulls back.

“That,” Liam chokes out, “God, Zayn, that’s what I want.”

The olive oil from the bread made Zayn’s mouth slick, so it’s easier than it usually is for him to close his eyes and slide Liam down his throat as deep as he does. He keeps his hands in his lap because Liam loves when he just uses his mouth. And he loves it too, can’t get enough of the heavy taste of Liam on his tongue, the way it feels like if he’s not careful enough he’ll choke, having to concentrate on it. He hollows his cheeks and sucks. He slides his mouth down about halfway and he’s tempted to use his hands, to hold the foreskin back, but he slides off then slides back down, pushing the foreskin away with the tautness of his lips, and Liam swears and fists a hand down in his hair so he’s glad he doesn’t.

His own cock is pressing against his jeans, but he wants Liam to take his clothes off. He wants Liam over every part of him, he wants to roll them around on their bed, he wants to tell Liam to stay still while he sinks on his cock and he wants to watch Liam obey him. But there’s no time for any of that, they’re in the kitchen in the middle of the fucking day, and Liam is filthy, unshowered with the smell of outdoors clinging to every part of him, and the fact that he’s going to go back to work like this, filthy and with the memory of Zayn on his knees in the middle of the kitchen for him, is enough to make him completely ignore the ache in his jaw.

“Baby,” Liam says, and he pushes at the back of Zayn’s head just a little, just enough for Zayn to take the hint and take him even deeper. His dick brushes the back of his throat and he moans around it, sucking as hard as he can.

“Fuck, you—you don’t have to—” Liam starts, because Zayn’s given up trying to keep his hands still, and he’s taken both and pushed Liam further into his mouth with his nails at the back of his thighs. His mouth is too full to try to speak and there’s no way he’s pulling off, so he scratches down his thighs to tell him to shut the fuck up. Liam gets it because he laughs, breathes out “ok ok,” and puts his hands back on the counter so he can hold on as Zayn deepthroats him.

And Zayn doesn’t waste any time, works Liam’s cock exactly like he knows how. It’s not long before Liam is babbling encouragement, always sounding so grateful, and Zayn will never be over it, how Liam always acts so surprised to receive only the best of what he deserves. Zayn’s eyes are clenched tight, but he knows without looking that Liam’s head is thrown back, probably with a hand on a nipple, pulling and rolling it to the point of pain. Zayn takes a hand and pinches one of his own through his t-shirt, wanting to preen when Liam pumps forward in his mouth because he sees him.

“ _Ungh_ , let me do that,” Liam says, sliding back and forth on Zayn’s tongue, the sound of his hips coming off and hitting back against the counter. “Let me do that for you.”

And even though they’d sanded down the floors, Zayn’s knees still hurt like a son of a bitch. So he pulls off and stands up, knowing exactly how he must look but thrilled to see the lust evident on Liam’s face anyway.

Without hesitation, Liam spins him at the waist until he’s bent over the island with Liam’s weight falling behind him.

“Christ, Liam,” he says, clawing at the wood to stay upright on his elbows. “Was it that good for you?” He’s teasing because he knows it was fucking good. Please. But Liam’s practically growling, already got both hands wrapped under Zayn and tugging at his nipples.

“Better than,” Liam says, nipping at Zayn’s ear. “It’s always the best with you.”

Zayn laughs and barely avoids the shiver running through him when Liam thrusts against him. He probably looks ridiculous, with his jeans and pants bunched around his ankles, his boots still tackily unlaced, but it’s the last thing on Zayn’s mind when Liam thrusts against him again and he can feel the heat of his dick against his ass. He pushes back into him and Liam pulls his nipples even harder, so he turns his head and gasps at how good it feels.

“You fucking animal,” he says, his hands slipping on the counter.

“Your animal,” Liam says back, biting the back of his neck.

Everything about him is cheesy and ridiculous and disgustingly endearing; Zayn snaps his mouth shut before he says anything about it. Quickly, Liam pulls the back of Zayn’s t-shirt up to his shoulders and kisses all the way down his spine.

He stops at Zayn’s tailbone, right at the roman numerals tattooed there, the date they’d met in June, at the Midsommarfest Zayn had almost not gone to. Liam teethes at it, sucking the skin until Zayn knows there will be a bruise. He lifts his hips slightly, panting, so Liam can get at the button of his jeans and quickly slide them down. Zayn isn’t wearing pants and Liam chuckles when he realizes.

He palms at Zayn’s ass with both hands and leans over him again, until his lips are pressed right against his ear. Zayn’s mouth feels raw, like he’s not getting enough oxygen.

“You dirty, dirty girl,” Liam says, and it doesn’t matter that Zayn can’t get enough oxygen because it all whooshes out of him anyways.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Zayn pants, partly because it hurts when his dick jerks against the edge of the counter and partly because it’s been so long since Liam has...done that, has called him that.

The first time he did it, they were pissed out of their minds. Weed and alcohol mixed to make them feel almost blinded by arousal. It was before they had the kids, but they had already talked about it. Ever since then, it was like sex had been heightened somehow. It was a new study in how long they could go without their hands on each other, and the answer was not very long; not very long at all. Louis and Eleanor were still together then, and they’d had a party at their place. It was always a shitshow with them, their parties being the craziest and most reckless of all.

Spin the bottle had turned into Never Have I Ever had turned into Truth or Dare, which had, ultimately, turned into an excuse for Eleanor to put all the boys in makeup. Fuzzy and delighted with everything, Zayn had grabbed one of El’s lipsticks and smeared it on without a thought. He didn’t have a mirror so he did it by feel, then he’d turned to Liam and smacked his lips and asked how he’d looked. Liam had stared back like Zayn had struck him in the face, and before Zayn had a chance to say anything about it El had pulled him aside and snapped selfies with him, calling him the prettiest girl at the ball.

Later, when Zayn hadn’t been able to hold it off any longer, he had sat in Liam’s lap and rocked against his cock like no one else was in the room. He can’t even remember if they actually made it to kissing, or if he’d just floated along on the warmth of Liam all around him, melting into him and breathing him in, but then Liam had run his fingers through his loose hair in just the right way so he’d turned his head, had found himself eye-to-eye with Liam, and Liam had licked his lips and said, “My pretty girl.”

The only reason Zayn hadn’t come right then on the spot was because of sheer force of will alone, but later, in their bed, he’d told Liam to say it again and he had jerked all over his face.

They never really got to the root of why Zayn got off on it. They figured it wasn’t important when it never failed to get them both off as hard as it did.

“Were you like this all day, hmm? With no panties on?” Liam asks, and his voice cuts right through Zayn, down to that deep, guttural place inside him. He feels beside himself with arousal. He doesn’t answer, but he grunts and pushes his hips back again. Liam leans back and takes his cock in one hand, holding Zayn open with the other, and slides the head of his cock down the crack in Zayn’s ass.

“Fucking hell,” Zayn moans, and his whole body rolls back into it. “You want to put it in me?”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes out. “In your cunt, yeah?”

Zayn might actually combust. “Y-yeah, in my cunt,” he breathes back, and he reaches back to hold his cheeks open so Liam can slide like he wants to.

Liam pauses for a second, rubbing his cockhead at Zayn’s rim and pushing ever so slightly. “You sure you can take me? You feel awfully tight.” And Zayn probably is. It’s been a while since he’s had anything wider than a few fingers in him, but that doesn’t stop him from whining at the idea of Liam splitting him open.

“I can take anything you give me,” he says, leaning up and arching his back. He turns his head so he can bite at Liam’s jaw. He’s broken a sweat again, the open windows letting an unseasonable humidity into the house, and he spends a second just inhaling him. “Give it to me.”

Liam pushes him back down by the back of the neck so fast that he goes sprawling, nearly hitting the side of his face against the counter.

“I wanna eat you,” Liam says, reverent, like everything Zayn gives him is a present. “But you need something bigger.”

Zayn squirms. Liam’s holding his cheeks apart and pressing on his hole with both thumbs.

“My fingers, I think,” Liam says, softly like he’s contemplating. “‘s that ok?”

Zayn swears that if he wasn’t married to him he would have killed him by now. “Is that _okay_?” He bites back. “Of course it’s—”

But Liam must have been joking, and Zayn doesn’t know how he didn’t see it coming, blaming his current state of mush brain, because Liam doesn’t wait for him to finish before he presses a finger in him. Zayn gasps out in surprise because he’s way too dry, and it feels way too good, but then he notices that Liam’s finger is actually _sliding_ in him, like it’s already been...but when…

“Liam,” Zayn starts, clenching around his finger but turning his head so he can see his puzzled expression. “What is that?”

“What’s what,” Liam asks, and his voice has gone dumb like it does, when he’s too turned on to pay attention properly.

“That,” Zayn repeats, clenching again and sliding his ass back even further on his finger. “When did you get lube?”

Liam swears and twists his finger a little. Zayn tries not to shout at how much of a tease it is. “Not lube.”

“Not lube?” 

“No, it’s—fuck, babe, you really are tight.” Then there’s a sound to Zayn’s left, and he turns his head to look. It’s the olive oil, tipped over on it’s side from where Liam must have thrown it.

Reflexively, Zayn clenches his ass as he surges upright. “You put _olive oil_ up my ass?! Liam!”

“Oh my god do that again, yes baby, clench around me again.”

Sometimes, perhaps more times than Zayn would honestly like to admit, he has no idea whether he has two or three children. “Liam, you can’t--that’s not even--fucking hell, _olive oil_?!”

But apparently not even Zayn’s astonished voice can cut through Liam’s haze. “Babe, it’s fine. I checked like, online.”

“What, with Doctors ‘R Us?”

Liam laughs and pushes Zayn back onto the counter. But Zayn refuses to go all the way, locking his elbows so he has more leverage. “Something like that.” Then he adds another finger, so for a second Zayn can’t say anything at all. To make it worse, then Liam says, “Good girl, that’s it.”

Zayn can’t deny that his cock leaks onto the counter, but he’ll be fucked if he doesn’t say anything at all.

“I swear to fuck Liam, if I get an infection…”

“You won’t, love,” Liam says, and his voice sounds reassuring. Never mind that the second Zayn comes he’s Googling “olive oil up the bum” and Liam better pray that nothing even slightly disconcerting comes up. Liam’s good enough with his fingers that soon it’s only a hazy concern in Zayn’s mind, his bigger concern being what’s going to happen if he nuts all over the island. What the fuck is their problem. This is unsanitary as hell.

“You’d better pray that, ugh, _shit_ , do that again,” Liam scissors his fingers and laughs at the way Zayn melts around him. Smug bastard. “You son of a bitch,” Zayn wheezes out.

“Now, now, no need to bring mums into it,” Liam chastises, leaning down to kiss along Zayn’s back.

“Fuck’s sake, do _not_ bring up mums when I’m about to cream all over this counter.”

Liam really laughs then, a beautiful sound that floats down to Zayn on the wind flowing from the windows. “Are you really?”

Using the last of his strength to roll his hips back a few times, Zayn laughs and turns his head so Liam won’t see his grin. “Just get me off.”

Putting all his weight on him, Liam reaches around and wraps his hand around Zayn’s cock. It’s the first touch it’s had since he’s been hard, and it’s almost too much. But Liam works him, familiar and fast, keeping his fist tight so he can thrust into it. He’s kissing the side of his neck until he gives up and just pants against his ear, breathing in time with him, until Zayn feels the orgasm building right at the base of his spine. He groans and pants, says something that he hopes sounds like a warning, and then Liam--beautiful, strong, attentive Liam--lifts them both up off the counter so Zayn slumps back into him. Liam pulls his cock a few more times, all the way from base to tip, so when Zayn comes he spills up onto his stomach and over Liam’s fist.

“You’re so good. My pretty girl,” Liam is whispering, kissing the side of Zayn’s face, Zayn’s eyelids where they’re clenched shut. Lazily, Liam slides his hand down Zayn’s cock a few more times, squeezing until everything is pressed out of him but his own soul, it feels. He opens his eyes and yeah, the sun is definitely flowing through the house in a different position now.

“Christ,” he says, standing up on his own on wobbly legs. “What time is it?”

“Dunno,” Liam says, holding onto Zayn’s waist and spinning him around to kiss him properly. “I should get back though.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Zayn says, and he reaches a hand down to wrap around Liam’s dick. But Liam just kisses him quiet and tucks himself back in, pulls his jeans up, and pulls his t-shirt back on.

Zayn still feels like he’s had the life wrung out of him, so he just watches, dumbfounded. “Don’t you wanna,” he gestures to where Liam’s tucked away but his hard-on still prominent, desperate for attention.

“Nah, mate,” Liam says. It takes Zayn right back to uni, when they were just boys, not quite in love yet, and they talked to each other like they didn’t know how to make it obvious. Zayn grins at the reminder. “We’ll save it for later.”

“‘We,’ is it,” Zayn asks, pulling his own jeans up and crossing his arms, leaning back against the counter until he can get his balance properly.

Liam just smirks at him over his shoulder, washing his hands at the sink. He gets a paper towel wet and runs it over his face, concentrating on his forehead where some of his hair has stuck, pushing it off with the back of his hand. “Yeah, mate. Later.”

Except, and Zayn knows that they both know this, “later” doesn’t mean much of anything with two small children. Between picking them up from school, cooking dinner, eating dinner, playing, giving baths, telling stories, tucking in, there’s usually minimal energy between them by the time they get to bed. So the fact that Zayn knows, and Liam knows, that there might not be any time later to give Liam’s dick the attention it deserves, makes Zayn nearly stupid with love.

“Babe…” he starts, and he grabs Liam’s wrist and pulls him toward him and finishes by kissing him. Liam smiles into it so their teeth clack and he lets it go on for a minute before he slows it down and pulls away.

“Later,” he reiterates, smirking again. He throws his used towel in the direction of the bin and probably misses. He grabs his van keys off the counter. He pauses at the doorway and turns back around, leaning against the wall to look into the kitchen.

“Oh, and thanks. For lunch. It was delicious.” He winks like the dirty old bastard he is, and then there’s the sound of the door shutting behind him.

Zayn is left smiling to himself in the kitchen like a fool. It’s the sound of the bee that does it, still swarming lazily somewhere in the kitchen, that kickstarts him into action. He runs to his laptop in the living room and pulls up Google.

“Insha’allah,” he whispers to himself, grimacing as he types “olive oil up the bum.”

 

 


	2. Winter

In the rational, adult part of his brain, Zayn knows that people are capable of living in farmhouses throughout the winter. Not only their particular farmhouse, renovated though it might be, but multiple farmhouses. And not even just in England. Colder places, like Sweden. Germany. Fucking Iceland, probably. But the louder part of Zayn’s brain, the part that sounds a lot like the kids currently wailing and stomping their feet, assures him that no human being, dead or alive, could have ever lived like this. It’s fucking impossible.

“Ruby, for god’s sake, keep your slippers on, there’s a love,” Zayn pleads, grabbing Ruby’s ankle from where she’s swinging it off the couch. “It’s too cold to walk around without them.”

“But it’s _not_ ,” she whines. “I don’t like them.”

“Well—” Zayn starts, shoving the tiny purple item on her foot. But there’s no point in finishing; he’s learned that there is little, if anything, that can break through a child’s conviction. So he just sighs, flicking her ankle with his finger. She doesn’t even laugh, which goes to show just how much of a mood she’s in.

Alfie is sprawled out beside her under an unseemly amount of blankets, attention glued to the movie on the TV. It was Ruby’s choice, and usually she could watch Beauty and the Beast on repeat until the sound of singing dishes clinking together was enough to turn Zayn’s stomach. Now it’s barely keeping her attention. Zayn runs his fingers through her hair.

“What’s up with you, hmm? You alright?”

“No,” she pouts, arms folded.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“You just want to be mad then? For no reason?”

She glares at him and he feels an acute sense of how this is going to affect him, again, ten years down the line when she’s a teenager and has learned the full power of a well-aimed glare.

“Have it your way then,” he concedes, standing up and stretching his legs out.

He walks into the kitchen where it’s, miserably, even colder. The whole back wall of the kitchen is just glass, leading to the sunroom which opens into the garden. It’s beautiful, certainly, Zayn has conceded that point a million times over, but it does nothing by way of insulation. He flicks on the light and pads over to the window, watching the snow circle down in wisps. 

He’s rubbing his arms for warmth when he gets a thought. “Who wants hot chocolate?” He calls out.

Alfie’s voice rings out clearly. “Me, Dad! I do!”

“Ru?” Zayn asks.

There’s a beat of silence then in a quiet voice, far more timid than fits her personality, Ruby responds, “Yeah.”

Zayn smirks to himself. Usually he wouldn’t give them chocolate so close to dinner, but he figures there should be an exception for a snow day.

December had come around like it had something to prove, with all the force of a pushy newcomer who had been all but uninvited. It had snowed straight through the first week, little flurries at first that soon turned into huge, fat flakes. In the beginning, it was fine. Walking to school with the kids in the morning became that much more exciting, so much so that Zayn started to bring his camera along with him, wanting to capture every snow angel and every errant snowflake on each bright, beaming cheek. The kids were entranced with the snow, they couldn’t get enough of it. And Liam’s hand was a consistent warmth in Zayn’s own, their fingers squeezing onto each other to keep the cold away.

But then December had turned into a right bitch. Zayn had never really liked the cold, but he could tolerate it in tiny doses. Nothing about this was tiny, and nothing about it was like cold in London. There were too many bodies in London, probably, with too much pent up aggression and haste about them to ever let the city get unbearably cold. But the cold here, with nothing in its way but the bleating of a few sheep, the warmth of a street lamp here and there, spread out and seeped into everything.

Including their old farmhouse. Renovated though it was.

Last night, the heat had conked out. Liam was always a furnace beside him, so Zayn hadn’t realized what had happened until the kids had plopped on their bed, shaking him awake.

“Dad, it’s cold in our room!” They had yelled in his half-asleep face. Disoriented, Zayn had rolled out of bed before he’d really processed what they were saying. When his feet had touched the ground, he just managed to stop himself from swearing to high heaven because _fuck_ , that was frigid. He had shushed the kids and simply tucked them in beside Liam, telling them to try and go back to sleep. Flicking on only the lights he needed and mostly feeling his way downstairs, he’d got a flashlight and braved the dusty old broom closet that housed their heater and, sure enough, the bastard had given out. Or so he assumed. It wasn’t making noise, at least. He had no idea what he was looking at, and there was no use in waking Liam to have him try. His body heat alone could sustain them all through the rest of the night until, hopefully, the sun broke through and warmed the house a little. Zayn had gone back upstairs and wedged himself in, making sure the duvet was pulled up under every little chin in the bed.

In the morning, it was the phone that woke him. Liam, fresh from an uninterrupted sleep, rolled out of bed first. Padding out of the room, he swore with nearly each step. Zayn smiled to himself and buried deeper under the covers. When Liam had come back into the room, he’d leaned down to whisper in Zayn’s ear, kissing him between words.

“What’s that?” Zayn asked sleepily, cracking his eyes open through the blinding white light spilling in.

“I said, that was the school. Something about their generator being out, so there’s no heat in the building. They’ve asked me to come by and have a look.”

Zayn had sat up fully and hissed through his teeth so he wouldn’t wake the kids. “ _No heat_? Jesus. Ours has kicked the bucket as well.”

Liam scrunched his face up. “Has it? How do you know?”

“Because I can feel, Liam. We can’t all be made of fire and brimstone.” And sure enough, Liam’s only in his loose sweats, no socks, and no shirt. He looks fine. Happy, even.

“Is it really?” Liam had asked again, head cocked to the side. “I’ll look at it.”

“Yeah you will,” Zayn agreed. He gestured to the two sleeping lumps under the covers. “Didn’t you wonder why the kiddies were in here? They got in early this morning saying it was too cold in theirs.” He stared at Liam for a while, not a goosebump on him anywhere in sight, not even the slightest shiver. “Can you really not feel how cold it is?”

“I mean it is a bit nippy, if I’m honest,” Liam had shrugged. “But it’s alright.”

“No it bloody well isn’t,” Zayn had laughed, hitting Liam with a pillow. “You will get down there and fix our heater then you will go to the school and fix theirs. Or call Kev! He can’t be up to much.”

Liam had snatched the pillow from Zayn’s hands. “Alright alright, geeze, I’m on it.” He did grab a sweater from off the floor and pull it over his head at least. “Oh, but,” he whispered, gesturing to the kids again. “School’s cancelled until the heat is fixed. So they’ve got the day off, at least. Whoo hoo, snow day!” He pumped his fists in the air and headed downstairs.

Suddenly remembering his own childish thrill whenever school was cancelled, Zayn had thrown the covers off everyone and started jumping on the bed. “No school! No school! No school!” he chanted, until the bouncing and yelling had forced them to pop awake. And Zayn loved how easily they went along with it, how quickly from dead asleep to wide awake, holding his hands and jumping in a circle, shouting, “No school!” at the top of their lungs and all of them laughing, Zayn the loudest of them all.

But that was hours ago, and there was still no heat circulating through the house.

Liam had prodded and poked at their heater for a while before deciding that it needed work beyond just his simple hands, murmuring something about ordering a part, and grabbed his coat and car keys to head to the school to check on theirs. Apparently everything in their little hamlet was ancient, because he’d come back only half an hour later in an even worse mood.

When Zayn had asked what was wrong with their heater, Liam had replied “What isn’t wrong with it?” then went on to list every single annoyance. It had all gone over Zayn’s head, of course, which is doubly frustrating because he knew that Liam had known it would. Zayn had made him a cuppa anyways, had set it in front of him in the kitchen and rubbed his shoulders until some of the tension left. Then he’d gone back to finishing his designs in the living room with the kids.

“I’m going to get some wood,” Liam had said a little bit later, coming into the living room just as Gaston was singing his own praises on screen.

Zayn had put his pencil down and looked at him. The kids hadn’t even turned in his direction. “Wood? Like, from outside?”

“Yeah,” Liam had said, shrugging. “We’ve got these massive fireplaces, might as well use them.”

“But we haven’t even had them cleaned. There’s probably bats living up there, for all we know.”

Liam had laughed, like that was impossible. It wasn’t. Zayn knew enough about country living that every creature imaginable was going to find it’s nasty way into their home somehow. It was only best to be prepared for the worse.

“No love, they’re fine. They’re one of the first things I checked when we moved in.”

Zayn had been skeptical because he didn’t remember that. But it is very possible that Liam did it while he wasn’t looking, the house having an endless list of grievances that needed checking and updating. And there was something off about the way Liam had been standing, the way he hadn’t fully come into the room, how he kept shifting his weight. Zayn knew what it was. It was restlessness, the little ache he would get when he hadn’t used his hands enough, when he’d been too still for too long.

Zayn had smiled at him then, just a small quirk of his lips, to let Liam know he understood. “Alright,” he’d sighed, picking up his pencil again and pointing it at Liam threateningly. “But don’t go crazy. We don’t need that much and it’s extremely cold out there. Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t,” Liam promised over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Now, Zayn watches Liam from the kitchen as he pulls the pot down from the rack hanging over the island. The sun isn’t out so Zayn can look properly at the snow without blinding himself. Liam’s swinging an axe, again and again, splitting logs perfectly. Christ knows where he found an axe. Zayn hadn’t been into the tiny shed behind the house since they’d moved in and he didn’t plan to go in there anytime soon. For a second, he just watches Liam move. He’s totally in his element out there. Every now and then Zayn can follow the little puffs of breath that come from his mouth when he exhales. He has no idea what the proper squatting technique is to split a log, but he’s pretty damn sure with the way Liam’s ass looks he’s got it down to a science.

“Dad,” a little voice squeaks from behind Zayn.

“Yes, love?” Zayn says, tearing his eyes away from the impressive pile of logs Liam has built up. He turns around to see Alfie, climbing up onto his little chair at the island as best he can, wrapped in blankets as he is.

“I’m bored.”

“Bored? But you’ve got a whole day out from school!”

“It’s boring,” Alfie says, chewing at his thumb. “There’s no friends. There’s no songs.” His hair’s sticking up from where he was laying on his side so Zayn reaches a hand across to smooth it down. But Alfie makes a noise of protest and leans away.

Zayn sets his mouth. Alfie’s terrible when he gets like this, moody and petulant for no reason. But Zayn figures when you’re four years old, you don’t need a reason.

“Alright then, you want a song? Why didn’t you say so!” And he starts singing off-key and high-pitched, “Be Our Guest,” which is engraved into his brain by now. It gets a smile out of Alfie and a giggle, but nowhere near the endless squeals of laughter he had been hoping for.

Once Zayn has got milk simmering on the stove, he turns his full attention to Alfie and leans down so he’s level with him over the counter. “What is it then, hmm? What’s really up?”

Alfie blinks at him a few times, his big brown eyes the most expressive part about him. He’s still chewing his thumb but his voice is clear when he says, “I want to play outside.”

And could there ever, in a million years, be any doubt at all that this is Liam’s son.

“Alfie,” Zayn starts, his face falling. “We talked about this. And you played outside yesterday!”

Alfie makes a sound of distress and looks pleadingly out the window. “But that was long ago,” he whines. Zayn tries not to smile at his skewed sense of time. “Jamie said he made a snowman. I want to make one.”

“Jamie Clark?” It was becoming a famous name in the Malik-Payne household, mostly because of how quickly Alfie and Jamie were becoming friends.

“Mmhm,” Alfie nods. “His is this big,” and he stretches his little arms as wide as they’ll go, then as tall.

Zayn makes an astonished face. “ _That_ big?”

“Yeah!” And Alfie probably hasn’t even seen it, but his conviction is enough to convince Zayn that anything is possible.

Zayn had told the Alfie and Ruby it was too cold to play outside and that’s really all there is to it. It’s fine when they’re walking to and from school, because at least then he and Liam are with them and it’s a set destination with a set end. Nothing can hurt them then. But if they just start letting them play outside, in snow that’s nearly as tall as they are, who knows what could happen. And Zayn’s brain is an endless loop of “what could happen,” from a lost and starving pack of wolves grown bored with the sheep in the village, to some previously unforeseen hole in the ground, opening up and swallowing his kids whole after one wrong turn, to frostbite, to icicles falling, to falling flurries turning into hail the size of golfballs in .02 seconds flat, to--

“Dad!” When Zayn catches Alfie’s eye, he looks away. Zayn can hear his feet kicking the side of the island, restlessly. “Please can I go outside,” he asks in the softest voice ever, the voice most likely to break Zayn’s heart.

Zayn’s about to say something but then he realizes he left the milk boiling, so he turns around to take it off the flame. He glances outside again to see Liam sitting on one of the logs with his face turned up, tongue sticking out to catch the snowflakes on his tongue.             

When Zayn turns around there’s a smile on his face, so he smiles brightly at Alfie.

“Yeah alright, little one. You can play outside.”

Alfie yelps and jumps down from his chair, running over to squeeze Zayn around his legs. “Thank you Dad thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re welcome” Zayn says, laughing. “Go ask your sister if she wants to join you. Meet me at the door in a sec and I’ll put your coat on.”

But Alfie’s already skidding out of the kitchen. “I can do it meself!”

“I know you can, but I’m still going to do it for you!” Zayn yells after him.

He puts the hot chocolate aside and walks to the back door off the main hallway, leading into the garden. There’s all manner of dirt and snow trod into the rug there, and it’s so drafty around the door the Zayn shivers, even through his layers. Granted that one of his layers is Liam’s ratty old uni t-shirt under his sweater, but it’s the single most comfortable piece of clothing like, ever. Alfie nearly collides with him when he comes around the corner.

“Alright let’s see here,” Zayn says, grabbing Alfie’s coat off the hook. “Now you’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” Alfie says, enunciating and nodding his head.

“No coming back inside in ten minutes?”

A hard shake of the head. Although, honestly, Alfie could bang on the door the second Zayn closes it behind him and he would let him in with open arms. But it’s never too early to start discipline. Or so says his mum.

“Where’s Ru? She doesn’t want to build a snowman?”

“No she’s drawing.”

Zayn starts. “Drawing where?” He hadn’t set out butcher paper this morning.

Impatient with his dad’s questions, Alfie takes his coat from him and slips his arms in, albeit a bit unsteadily. Then he stands on his tiptoes to pull his scarf and mittens from off the hook and puts those on as well. “On the table.”

“On the—RUBY!” Zayn yells, because that’s where he had left his designs. Will Allah ever have mercy.

Alfie, all bundled and set to go, is standing and buzzing at the door. “‘Kay dad I’m ready. Let’s go outside.”

Zayn sighs and stands up, pushing the hair off his face. Bracing himself, he pulls Alfie back from the door so he can open it just a crack. The chill is immediate and he squints his eyes against the sting of it on his face. Alfie, the little bugger, is all smiles.

“Liam!” Zayn calls to get his attention. He has to call twice more before the wind carries his voice over. Liam whips his head around when he hears and waves.

Zayn just points down at Alfie and Liam’s crooked grin in response is visible even as far away as he is. Liam drops the axe and waves his whole arm in the air, like he’s trying to flag him down.

Zayn leans down so Alfie can hear him clearly. “Ok, chicken, now be careful and make sure Daddy can see you at _all times_ and—” but Alfie sprints out from under Zayn’s grip and kicks up snow in his haste to get to Liam. “For fuck’s sake,” Zayn mutters, standing up and shaking his head. Liam picks Alfie up and spins him around and the sound of their laughter is the last thing he hears before he shuts the door on the both of them. They want to freeze? Good, they can freeze together.

It’s only when he’s back in the relative warmth of the house that Zayn remembers what Alfie had said.

“Ruuuuuuby,” he says, drawing it out and making his voice as menacing as possible. “What’re you doing…,”

The sound of a chair being pushed back and little slippered feet scuttling across the floor is unmistakable.

 

* * *

 

By Christmas, it’s stopped snowing entirely. Zayn is forever grateful for that, as a three hour road trip to Liam’s brother’s house would be a lot less pleasant with ice on the ground. There’s still snow everywhere, though, heavy on the trees and lying soft on all the rolling hills in the valley.

It’s early on the day before Christmas Eve and they’re all packed into the car, Alfie and Ruby in their booster seats, snacks and toys sprawled between them on the back seat. The weather’s lovely and clear and Liam’s driving, which is perfect, because it gives Zayn control of the stereo.

“Mariah Carey? Again?” Liam asks as Zayn re-inserts the cd.

“Yes, _again._ Perfection has no expiry date. Plus, the kids love it. Don’t you kids?” He asks, turning to look in the backseat. But they’re already singing along, trying their best to outshine Mariah’s Silent Night.

Zayn laughs and reaches back to steal a bag of chips, popping a few in his mouth then leaning over to feed some to Liam. “We should really start recording this.”

“God, it’ll be such a laugh. The camera’s in the back though.”

“Hang on, I’ll take a video on my phone. Your mum loves when they sing.” Zayn plucks his phone off the floor and rotates in his seat. “Look here, babes, look in the camera.”

In typical Alfie and Ruby fashion, there’s a dramatic display of hand gestures and facial expressions. They’re both trying to outdo the other so much that it’s all Zayn can do to keep the camera steady from laughing.

“So good. Say hi to Granny.”

“Hi Granny!” They sing-song, waving their hands.

Zayn laughs and clicks the phone off, turning back to Liam. “I’m telling you, we should start a band.”

Liam smirks. “Oh yeah? The Malik-Paynes? Or, Two Dads and Twins?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Zayn smirks and tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

Once they get off the highway, the land changes, more rolling countryside and winding roads, crisp and frosty. They don’t pass many cars on the back roads but there’s always a stray sheep or cow lumbering along. Ruby never fails to point them out.

After a while, the sound of the kids’ singing steadily declines, becoming softer and softer until it’s nothing at all. Zayn cranes his neck around to see them both passed out, Ruby clutching Teddy by one loose wing and Alfie with his mouth wide open.

Zayn looks at his watch. “Knew it. It’s always right after the first hour they knock themselves out.”

Liam flicks his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Aw, look at them. Little angels.”

Zayn clucks his tongue. “Yeah, appreciate it now. As soon as they see their cousins it’s going to be madness.” Liam’s brother John has three kids, Annabelle, Cameron, and Katherine, and they’re a bit older than the twins but they all love playing together. “It’s been ages since they’ve seen each other.”

“I know,” Liam says. “Since, what? The summer?”

“Your mum’s birthday, yeah,” Zayn says, and he doesn’t mean to but his voice clips it short.

Liam’s hands visibly tighten on the steering wheel. Zayn pretends not to see it.

Suddenly, Mariah sounds a little too happy about the birth of baby Jesus so Zayn lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Liam, I can’t pretend that—”

“I know you can’t,” Liam says, and his voice has gone low, almost dangerously so. “I know you can’t, Zayn just...Just try.”

Anger flares up in Zayn’s throat, threatening to spill out. He takes a deep breath and turns his head to look out the window, at the snowcapped trees whizzing by them. Because it’s not anger directed at Liam, and it’s not anger he deserves. “All I do is try,” Zayn says to the window. He must’ve been loud enough, because the next thing he knows is Liam’s hand closing around his in his lap and twining their fingers together. Zayn blinks his eyes closed and lets himself enjoy the Liam rubs his hand with the pad of his thumb, lets himself believe that it’ll be enough to get them through this. Again.

Zayn just rests his head against the seat and saves his voice. He knows he’s going to need it.

By the time they get to John’s house, an atrocious waste of perfectly good wood in what is, in Zayn’s opinion, an eyesore of a log cabin, the twins are awake and bubbling with excitement.

“Dad, is Santa here yet?”

“Not until tomorrow night, remember? When you’re all tucked in and sleeping.”

“But how does he know we’re at Uncle John’s?”

Zayn trips up. “Um...he just knows.”

“...he just _knows_?” That’s Ruby, ever the skeptic.

“Yes, pet, now put your shoes back on there’s still snow on the ground.” Zayn can’t reach back far enough to do it for her but he can at least chuck it in her direction.

“Daddy, I have to potty!”

“Just hold it for a second Alfie, we’re almost there,” Liam says, turning the car around a particularly sharp turn. “Bloody John and this _bloody_ middle of nowhere….,” he trails off, muttering under his breath.

Zayn doesn’t say anything about how they didn’t have to come in the first place.

The tires crunch on the gravel as they roll to a stop in front of the house. It’s massive, John’s winter home, and opulent in a way that Zayn is certain glorified log cabins don’t really have to be. There’s a porch that runs around the front and sides of it and someone has tied garland around it, reds and greens tastefully hanging in symmetrical patterns. That’ll be John’s wife Polly’s doing. The view, however, Zayn could never speak ill of. It’s one of the only perks at being so high up and braving the treacherous drive just to get up here. There’s land below them for miles, all of it drenched in white. There’s a sleepy village at the foot of the hill with steam rising from the chimneys, fairy lights hanging from the posts down the main street that’ll flicker to life as dusk approaches.

Liam cuts the engine and the twins cheer. Zayn wishes, desperately, that he could feel that excited.

For a second, Liam just stares straight ahead. Zayn knows exactly what he’s doing, and it twists something raw in his gut to watch him do it. He’s steeling himself. It’s like watching him physically put on armor. When he’s ready, he takes a short breath and pops his seatbelt off, his hand going to the door handle. But Zayn is faster and he grabs him by the wrist so he’ll turn his head, and he surges forward and kisses him.

Alfie and Ruby collectively “ewww” from the backseat and that, at least, makes the steel fall from Liam’s expression and makes him smile.

Hoping that he’ll let him get away with it, Zayn cups the back of his head with his hand, rubbing circles at the base of his neck as he changes the angle of the kiss slightly. Liam makes a tiny noise of satisfaction and it warms Zayn through, makes him feel useful that he could give Liam this, at least.

They pull away slowly and Zayn rests their foreheads together.

“I needed that,” Liam says, eyes bright. “Thank you.” He pecks Zayn one more time before he does hurry out of the car then, because Alfie is desperate for the toilet.

Liam slams his door shut and immediately about a dozen of Paynes and Payne-related clans spill forth from the house. It’s a lot of voices talking at once, their greetings muffled through the car. Zayn takes a deep breath and curls his fingers around his door handle, pushing it open and stepping out into the biting cold.

“You made it, ohhh let me look at my babies, let me see them!” That’s Karen, pushing her way through everyone to clamber down the steps first.

“Mum, be careful!” Liam warns, shooting a hand out when she slips and has to right herself on the last step. Karen trods through the snow and kisses him briefly, hardly looking at him, before pushing his hand away and scooping up Alfie.

“Hiya Granny! I have to potty!”

Karen pinches his cheeks. “Ohhh do you my love!” She coos. Alfie’s covered in fuschia lip prints and he and Karen are already deep in conversation, halfway up the steps before she even thinks to turn around.

“Hello Zayn, darling! Where’s my Ruby, send her in, it’s freezing out here!” tossed over her shoulder. Karen has always spoiled them both alike, but her affection for Alfie can’t be denied. She says it’s because he reminds her so much of when Liam was wee and cuddly, all the way down to his chubby cheeks.

“Hiya Karen,” Zayn calls back, laughing and unstrapping Ruby from her seat. “Ok you heard Granny, go on and follow her inside. Be a good girl and say hi to everyone on the way, ok?”

Ruby’s scooting across the seat, Teddy clutched tightly in her paw, and she slides down out of the car, making a little cloud of snow. “Hi everyone!” She shouts near at the top of her lungs, before breaking through everyone and following her granny inside.

Liam is distracted by his family, all of his cousins and uncles and aunts that he hasn’t seen in ages, and honestly Zayn can’t blame him. He can practically see the sunshine radiating off Liam from the porch, each hug and kiss lasting longer than the one before.

Zayn’s only just popped the boot open when he realizes from his periphery that someone’s walking towards him. “Don’t go thinking you’re exempt from all the love.”

He would know Nicola’s voice anywhere. He turns to look at her and she’s beaming at him. She giggles as they collide in a hug and he picks her up and spins her.

“Good to see you, you old wanker,” Zayn says, setting her down.

“Look who’s talking,” Nicola says back, punching him lightly in the shoulder. She’s dyed her hair even more platinum so it’s nearly blinding to look at against the white snow backdrop.

Zayn whistles and pulls teasingly at a strand. “So what’s prompted this, then?”

She laughs, turning her head away from Zayn’s hand. “And again. Look who’s talking.” She reaches out and pokes Zayn’s hair where it’s gathered in a messy bun on top of his head. “Has it really been that long since I’ve last seen you? This looks like it’s been growing for ages.”

Zayn laughs and turns to the bags. “Liam and I said the same thing. It must be at least 8 months, maybe 9?”

“Fuck me,” Nicola says in disbelief, taking the bags that Zayn hands her. “That long? We should be ashamed of ourselves.”

“ _We_? You try moving cross country and raising two kids then see how much of a life you have.”

Nicola scoffs. “Ha! Cross country? You barely changed post codes.”

Zayn flips her off over his shoulder as he reaches for the twins’ little suitcases squished in the back. “Yeah, whatevs. But how’ve you been, love? Really?”

The last time Zayn had seen Nicola, she’d been going through a terrible breakup. Between the two of them they’d gone through a couple bottles of wine and two spliffs, venting about the inherent shittiness of men. Before Zayn had met Liam, there had been an endless line of dickheads, fuck ups, and general pains-in-the-asses.

Never mind that Zayn had often been the offending party and never mind that Nicola had done some things she wasn’t proud of in the scheme of her relationship, but pissed off wine and high as a kite, none of that had mattered. Men were scum, point blank.

When he shuts the boot and turns to look at her, she looks like she’s remembering that night too. Quick as anything, she jumps forward and hugs him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his hair. “I’m good, Zayn,” she murmurs, voice close to his ear. “I’m really, really good.” When she pulls away her eyes are bright, but Zayn just smiles at her and chucks her under the chin.

“I’m glad, love.” He reaches down and makes a show out of shouldering his and Liam’s bags, which are definitely the heavier. “But these bags sure ain’t carrying themselves.” Nicola laughs and tells him to piss off, bending down to get Alfie’s and Ruby’s.

Liam’s still on the porch when they get up there and it goes to show just how much he’s invested in catching up with his family that he doesn’t even blink an eye when he sees Zayn with their bags. Usually he refuses to let Zayn carry most things, but this time he only pulls him closer and introduces Zayn to someone called Ross, saying something about friend of a friend of a cousin or something. Zayn smiles as politely as he can while juggling the weight on his shoulders and trying to get through to the door.

“Shove over you imbeciles, can’t you see we’re trying to get through?” Nicola, being family, has no qualms speaking like that to them, for which Zayn is immediately grateful once everyone parts and he’s got a clear view of the door.

Inside, it’s like a physical assault to the senses. Red, green, and twinkling lights are everywhere. The smell of baked goods is so thick in the air it can’t be natural, and a quick sweep of the foyer and into the rooms beyond confirms that the flickering glow has got to be from candles. Hundreds of candles it looks like, all with some variation of Cinnamon Apple Pumpkin Spice smell and Cookies at Christmastime. There’s a giant Frosty in the corner, lit up from the inside and just barely slim enough around the waist not to be a major block in the hallway. He’s animatronic so every few seconds will raise a mittened hand to his hat, tip it, and blink his beady black eyes in a way that Zayn desperately tries to convince himself is not creepy.

“Good Christ,” he says in awe, dumping the bags at the foot of the steps. “What happened in here?”

Nicola rolls her eyes and drops the twins’ bags down in the pile. “Do not ask. When Mum and Polly get together, there’s literally no stopping them. God, you should’ve seen them yesterday, I didn’t know there were enough candles in the world. The whole trolley was full to the brim.”

“I can imagine,” Zayn says slowly, looking around and wondering how long it took to do all of this. There’s tinsel hanging off just about every available surface and all the way up the banister on the staircase is garland, wound tight, with little candy canes poking out. It’s tacky. It’s gauche.

“It’s incredible,” Zayn declares. “The kids are going to lose it.”

Nicola laughs and grabs his hand, leading him down the hall to the kitchen. “Just wait until you see your rooms!”

 

* * *

 

Christmas with the Paynes is always something of a novelty for Zayn, even though he’s been doing it for almost a decade now. What he can never get over is how enthusiastic they all are. It’s a month long debacle, starting the second November starts to wind down, and for all Liam’s griping about Mariah Carey on repeat, he’s always the first to break out the decorations and hum carols around the house.

Zayn remembers the first Christmas he spent with Liam and his family. They were in uni and had only been dating a few months. Casually one morning, Liam had been gathering his books and slipping on his shoes to head to class when he’d muttered something that sounded like if Zayn wasn’t doing anything and if he didn’t need to be home, would he like to come to Liam’s for Christmas? He’d taken it back almost as soon as he said it, tripping over his words to say it was too forward, too much too soon. Zayn had rolled his eyes and hushed him, said that December 25th at his house was never more than a late lie in and marathoning action films. A big dinner, maybe, if he was lucky. And yes, he’d love to come.

However, Liam had failed to mention that by “my family” Liam had really meant “everyone possibly related to me in any way, form, or fashion” and that it wasn’t just Christmas Day that the Paynes’ celebrated. It was every fucking day. As far as they were concerned, Christmas began the moment you dropped your bags in the door and it didn’t end until you were back in your own car, pedaling slowly downhill and back to reality.

That day in uni, Liam had also failed to mention that his brother, John, was a new level of asshole.

Zayn had known a little about John beforehand, Liam explaining in bits and pieces about his family on that very first drive up, but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming absurdity that such a person could exist. Not only that, but that such a spawn of Satan could share the same blood as _Liam_ , the epitome of an angel of a human being.

Liam and John never got along growing up, with the age difference not helping much. John was eight years older than Liam and had received the majority of their father’s love while Liam had received next to none. Or he had, Liam would assure Zayn after seeing the shocked look on his face, but it was nothing close to how their father had treated John. John grew up thinking that everything he touched was gold and everything he wanted, he’d have. Liam had grown up thinking that in order to be worthy of his father’s attention, he’d have to _be_ John. And that was never happening.

Regardless, John had followed a money trail straight out of uni and ended up making six figures like it was nothing. Which was how they ended up here in this massive wooden cabin every year. John had made money but Polly had come from money, and this, what they called their “winter home,” was utilized throughout the month of December for Payne-related family activities.

It’s a weird sort of place for Zayn to be in because it’s got plenty of good memories, like his first tree decorating, Liam telling him the story behind the ornaments as they worked together to decorate the tree, and that feeling of overwhelming love on Christmas morning, when he was showered with gifts, just like all the other family members, and made to feel truly welcome.

But there are bad things, too, like John’s temper. And John’s opinions. And John’s face, when he looks at Liam and he looks at Zayn and he looks at the two of them together and doesn’t notice that Zayn is watching him look.

The good far outweigh the bad, however, and as Nicola leads Zayn into the kitchen now he takes care to remind himself of that.

“I guess I should brief you on the agenda,” she says, gesturing at all the food left out on the counter. Zayn takes that as a sign to help himself. “You just missed lunch when you pulled up but there’s plenty left. What was I saying—Oh, the agenda! Right, so you know mum gets a little...excited.”

“Is that what you call it?” Zayn says amusedly, making a sandwich. Each year Karen makes an agenda and sends it out to the whole family, usually with some sort of e-card attachment that chimes The Christmas Song at you while you read. Liam always makes them watch it together, even though it’s the same every year, and he always hums along with the jingle.

“Behave,” Nicola warns, narrowing her eyes. “She may be your mother-in-law but she’s still my mum.” Zayn just blinks his eyes innocently.

“Anyway, so first is caroling. That’ll be tonight, after dinner.” Nicola pops a beer and leans back against the counter, ticking off the schedule on her fingers. “Then tomorrow we’ve got the morning walk and the film before bed. God I hope it’s not _A_ bloody _Christmas Carol_ again, I swear we’ve seen every version by this point. Christmas morning is presents, pictures, and dinner. So there you have it.”

Zayn glances up from his sandwich. “You sure that’s it?”

Nicola laughs and sips from her beer. “I’m sure.” She starts. “No wait! Baking with the kids, um….I think that’s tomorrow, after lunch.”

“Brilliant,” Zayn says, biting into his sandwich and groaning. He hasn’t had anything all day aside from the chips in the car. He talks around the food in his mouth. “What about the tree cutting?”

“Oh, you’ve missed it! John was impatient and did that a few days ago. Something about the trees dying quicker this year?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. Fuck does John know about bloody trees. Trust him to exclude them from one of the kids’ favorite parts, though. “Did he save the kids some decorations, at least?” A few weeks ago, he and Liam had taken the kids into the village at home where they’d bought a tree for their house and decorated it together, but it was nothing like the monster of a tree John always chose. The kids always loved sitting on their shoulders and trying to see who could get their ornaments the highest.

“Oh yeah,” Nicola assures, nodding. “There’s boxes and boxes of them, you know we never get through them all.”

“That’s true,” Zayn agrees, mentally cheering that he won’t have to tell the kids they can’t decorate the tree this year. And he can feel it already, these little prickles at his skin like he’s almost searching for reasons to be annoyed with John. Not that he doesn’t have an endless list already, but he figures that if he can beat him to the punch and brace himself before John catches him off guard, then that, at least, he’ll be able to control.

He and Nicola talk for a few more minutes, her catching him up on everyone from the family who was visiting this year and him filling her in on the new improvements to the house, when in come Alfie and Ruby, sliding through the kitchen in what look like brand new Christmas socks.

“Dad, look what Granny got us look, look!’

They’re both marveling at how easily they can slide on the wooden floor while still trying to stay still long enough so Zayn can see the patterns on their socks. He has enough time to see a jolly smiling Santa face.

“Those are sick! Did you thank Granny?”

Alfie shuffles his feet in place. “Yeah.”

“Good, but don’t slide too much or you might fall.”

Ruby takes a running start and slides down the length of the kitchen, giggling madly.

Nicola places her beer down on the counter and puts her hands on her hips. “Um, pardon me? Does your auntie not even get a hello?”

They must not have seen her for how excited they were, but as soon as Nicola speaks the twins gasp and run over to her simultaneously, hugging her around the legs. She kisses them and fusses over them. “Look at how big you’ve gotten! I could just eat you up!” She exclaims, making growling noises and pretending to bite at their cheeks.

Zayn puts his plate in the dishwasher. “Nic, could you show us up to our rooms? I’d like to clean up and all.” He hadn’t put much effort into what he wore, never liking to feel too constricted in the car, but now he wants to dress up a bit, is excited about Christmas and how the spirit always infects him when he comes here.

Nicola pauses in doting on the twins to look up. “Yeah, of course, take all the time you need! Dinner’s not until a few hours. And you’re in the same rooms you always are, do you remember it? You’re welcome to go up on your own Zayn, no need to rest on pretense like you’re not just as much a part of the family.”

Blushing, Zayn grins and looks away from her. Technically, he knows that but still. There’s always been a degree of casualness, of displacing formality, that he’s struggled to let go of. At least for the first few hours he needs time to adjust to it, time to settle into himself around people who aren’t Liam and their kids. “Yeah, I know that but--”

“No buts! You do as you’re told.”

Finding it hysterical, Alfie and Ruby break out into fits. “No butts! Auntie Nicola said butts!”

“Oh ha ha,” she says mockingly, tweaking their noses.

Zayn grabs a water bottle from the fridge on his way out. He gestures to the kids. “Are you sure you’re…”

“Zayn, if you try to waste one more minute of my time by separating me from my adorable niece and nephew, I will…” she trails off, looking around the kitchen. There’s a bowl of grapes closest to her. “I will throw this grape at you!” Then she does it anyways, plucking one off the vine and launching it at him.

“Oi!” He says, just barely ducking it. “Kids, are you going to let her treat your dad this way?”

But Alfie and Ruby are already standing on their tip-toes and snatching at the bowl on the counter. “Auntie help, we can’t reach!”

Nicola laughs, big and loud, and brings the bowl down to their level.

“My own kids, turned against me,” Zayn mock-whispers, watching them fill their hands with grapes with their mouths open in glee.

Nicola sets the bowl back on the counter and locks eyes with him. “Run,” she mouths.

Like he, too, is wearing slippery Christmas socks, Zayn sprints out of the kitchen and around the corner just as the first fruits start to fall.

 

* * *

 

When Zayn wakes up, it’s to warm pressure on his back.

Liam’s straddling him and his hands are massaging at the tension between his shoulder blades. He keeps pausing to press kisses to the back of Zayn’s neck, pulling the collar of his sweater down so he can press his mouth directly to the bird tail feathers there, inked right over the top of his spine. Zayn blinks his eyes open slowly and he’s already smiling where his face is pressed into the pillow.

“Time is it?” he asks groggily, letting himself sink even deeper into the sheets as Liam’s hands rub him just right.

“Time for you to get up before mum has my head,” Liam says, chuckling. “Just a little past five actually. But mum’s dying to catch up with you. Apparently I’m not good enough to speak for you.”

“You’re not,” Zayn teases, rolling his shoulders back into Liam’s hands.

Abruptly, Liam pulls his hands away. “Well you’d better get to it then!” he exclaims, slapping Zayn’s ass for good measure and getting to his feet. Zayn groans. He loves Karen, but she never quite learned how to get past her overprotectiveness. Every time they talk he seems to spend just as much of his time convincing her that Liam is fine and healthy and safe as he does chatting with her about everything else.

Reminding himself that at least there are cookies downstairs, the Christmas kind he likes with the reindeers stamped on them, Zayn sighs loudly and rolls to his feet. As soon as he’s fully upright he yawns and stretches his arms out. Liam grabs his wrists and steps forward to place a kiss right over his open mouth.

Zayn pushes him away, cranky. “Ugh Liam, gross.” He walks over to his suitcase for a change of clothes.

“You love it,” Liam smirks, heading for the door. “And hey—dinner’s at 7. You ok?” His expression is blank but his hands are clenched around the doorframe and his jaw is tight, obvious where he’s squeezing his teeth together.

Zayn looks away from him and busies himself in his suitcase. “Yeah, babe. All good.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Liam,” Zayn says, steeling his voice a little. “It’s fine.”

Zayn doesn’t look at him, but he can see out of his periphery that Liam waits a little before finally leaving the room. As soon as he does Zayn drops the clothes in his hand and throws his head back, sighing up at the ceiling. Every Christmas he says he’s fine and every Christmas things end up being Not Fine. He doesn’t know why he expects this year to be any different, but he prays, desperately, that it is.

 

* * *

 

Dinner goes off without a hitch. Zayn had a glass of red while he was catching up with Karen and helping her set the table, so that, for one, was a big help. The kids, miraculously, behaved like angels at their kids’ table in the corner with their cousins. Zayn sat with Liam on his right, Nicola on his left, and a distant cousin of Liam’s called Stewart was directly in front of him. But Zayn liked Stewart, for all his painful awkwardness, so the conversation all around was good. There was endless food, Karen and Polly always cooking enough for a small country, and it was delicious. Karen had even attempted to make her own naan this year and when she’d, delicately, placed a piece on Zayn’s plate, leaning down to whisper that she really, really hoped he liked it, he had, to his horror, been too choked up to say anything. He’d coughed and stuttered out a quiet thanks and when she had turned to go make plates for the kids Liam had squeezed his knee under the table and beamed at him.

The wine, too, was endless and thank fuck for that. Zayn knew he shouldn’t, but every time the bottle came his way he snatched it, whether his glass was empty or not. He needed armor, he thought to himself as he poured his third full glass; wine helped him say things that needed to be said, but easier. Wine gave him the strength to speak before he thought, to bury hesitation, to chuck things like politeness and etiquette into dark corners where they belonged.

But the longer dinner carried on, the more it seemed like things were alright. For the first time in years, dinner wasn’t going to be a Thing. Zayn doesn’t know when he feels it first, exactly, but one second he’s deep in conversation halfway down the table with someone, another distant cousin whose name he can’t remember for the life of him, discussing the merits of urban green spaces, and in the next second Liam is physically pulling him in and kissing him, cutting him off mid-sentence. It comes out of nowhere and there’s gravy at the corner of Liam’s mouth that Zayn can taste when he pecks him there, when the shock of the kiss wears down and he can pull back.

Zayn narrows his eyes at Liam and links their fingers together under the table. “What was that for?”

Liam just smiles, shrugging like it’s nothing. “Just wanted to,” he says.

Zayn squeezes his hand before he lets go to break off a huge piece of naan. “Well thanks,” he says, then he leans forward over his plate as far as possible until he locks eyes again with distant-cousin-no-name so they can get back into their conversation.

It’s only then that Zayn realizes, the back of his neck still warm where Liam’s hand had curled around him, that things are actually good.

The kids can never stay still long after dinner, so right after they’ve done their portion of the cleanup, Ruth and some of the other young family members take the kids upstairs to play.

Ruby and Alfie are the first out the room. “Bye Dad, bye Daddy,” they yell over their shoulders.

“Have fun!” Zayn says, leaning back in his chair

“And be good for your auntie,” Liam calls after them, probably too slow to be heard over the thundering of little feet upstairs.

So dinner is fine. And Zayn _feels_ fine, limbs wine-loose and warm all over, through his chest and down to his toes. He knows he doesn’t but it feels like he’s got the goofiest smile permanently on his face. It’s a bit quieter in the dining room once the kids leave and when Karen asks if everyone wants coffee and apple pie, no one protests.

It’s started snowing again. The Christmas tree is lit up and it sparkles in the corner of the dining room, dead center in front of the window. Nat King Cole is crooning from the stereo and it’s all casual, soft conversation, the occasional clinking of cups against saucers and murmured praising for Polly’s cooking.

Say what you want, Zayn thinks to himself, catching a stray bit of pie crust on his fork and sliding it in his mouth; but the bitch can cook.

“So Liam, how’s business going?”

The sound of John’s voice could turn his stomach on a good day. The way it sounds now, deliberate and smug, is enough to make Zayn tense everywhere.

 Carefully, Liam puts his coffee cup down. His smile seems easy enough when he looks at John. “It’s alright, thanks. There haven’t been too many—”

“I still,” John cuts him off, shaking his head and laughing at his own disbelief—”can’t believe you just up and left your lives in London.”

Zayn can _feel_ his blood pressure spike. Distractedly, he notices that Polly is having a conversation with some of her family, that Nicola is laughing with Karen and their cousins, but all of them, every single one of them, has stilled in a way, so slight, the second they realize what John is doing. This, right here, is what he’d been dreading this entire time, what he dreads each trip, that John will find a way to twist everyone’s happiness into something bitter and cold.

Zayn desperately wants to find Liam’s hand under the table and brush his own against it, he wants to tether him to something real, something that offers love without asking him to qualify it, to prove that he deserves it.

Liam clears his throat. “Well it wasn’t like it happened overnight. We planned it for months. _You_ knew for months.” There’s a bite to his voice now. Nat is still crooning in the background and he sounds louder but it’s really just that everyone else has gotten quieter.

John flicks a piece of hair out of his face and shrugs. His hairline is receding. “Yeah but, I mean...I couldn’t do it. Coming out here to the middle of nowhere for a few weeks in the winter is enough for me.”

“Well I’m not you am I,” Liam mutters.

“Mm,” John says, sipping from his coffee and turning to look at the snow falling out of the window. The snowman that the kids made earlier is still there, and he’s a lot less scary than the Frosty in the foyer. “How are Alfie and Ruby adjusting?”

“They love it, actually,” Zayn chips in. He supposes that his voice sounds a little short but it’s worth it for the slightly startled expression on John’s face. “They love their school, they love the house, they love the village, everyone in town loves them. It’s been perfect, really.”

It’s only slight, but Zayn can feel it when Liam shifts in his seat to be closer to him.

“Really?” John is less than convinced, his face pinched. “And everyone’s alright with the…” he trails off, gesturing with his hand between Zayn and Liam.

Liam blinks. “With what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know. The—the—”

And for fuck’s sake, John is a grown man but has spent most of his waking years, as far as Zayn can tell, acting like a big baby.

“With the gay thing, is that what you mean?” Zayn’s voice is loud enough and his tone sharp enough to pause every other conversation in the room. But he doesn’t care, not when this is where they end up every year, Liam forced into a position to once again have to defend himself against his piece of shit brother.

“It’s been over a decade, John, get a grip,” Liam adds.

Comparably, Karen sounds timid from her spot at the end of the table. “Boys, please, let’s not—”

But John has never known when to stop. “And here we are again,” he says dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Always back on me like I’m the one with the problem. But that’s not even what I was asking! I just _thought_ that being such a small town and all, the people might—see an issue.”

“What, like yourself? You can’t even say the word. The problem has _always_ been you.”

Again, Zayn wants to reach a hand out and close it around Liam and _pull_. He wants to pull him outside with their kids and keep on pulling until they’re all back in the car and headed home. But he refrains.

“I can say _gay_ , Liam.”

“Yeah but with a frown on your face.”

John turns bright crimson. “Just because I don’t laugh about it and parade it about—”

“—doesn’t mean that you don’t support us, right,” Liam finishes for him. When he laughs, it’s short and dark and Zayn hates the way it sounds. Liam’s eyes are a little wild, the way they get when he’s had too much to drink. “Pretty hard to feel supported when you haven’t even called to check on us since we’ve moved.”

In everything Liam says, every single time he has this argument with his brother, he includes Zayn. It’s always 'we,' and 'us,' and 'ours'.

“Well I’ve been busy, haven’t I? Sales won’t just make themselves you know. I’ve barely had a second to breathe let alone call you.”

And in everything John says, always talking down to Liam like he’s got something to prove, he finds a way to exclude Zayn, to push him out and make him feel invisible even though he’s sitting right there.

Liam rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. He’s got one hand digging into his bicep with his nails. Later, Zayn knows that he’ll find prints and he’ll be sure to kiss over them, to press into them until they’re gone. His whole body is tense, coiled tight.

“But there’s been plenty of time for making deals and all, mmhm I see,” Liam says, air quoting around “deals.” It’s so childish that Zayn would laugh, if he wasn’t already beaming with pride that Liam had done it. To hell with John’s deals.

“Yeah, _deals_ ,” John mocks him back. He makes a dismissive noise and curls his lip. “Not that you’d know anything about that with _your_ business being all...Well.”

Anger flares up in Zayn so fast it makes his eyes sting with hot tears. He’s about to say something, he is, and _this_ was precisely what the wine was for, he’s inhaled a breath to do it and he’s ready to release when, like he knew it was coming, Liam’s hand darts out to grab his own and he clenches his sweaty palm around it. The words catch in Zayn’s throat.

“John!” Karen says, aghast.

“No, Mum, it’s alright,” Liam assures, looking to her briefly and warming his smile. “John just doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Sharp and mean, John laughs. “Don’t I?” His whiskey glass is nearly empty beside him. “The only reason you and him could even move was because of Uncle Alfred.”

Liam’s fingers curl hard enough around Zayn’s hand that he can feel the bones pressing against each other. He inhales sharply and Zayn looks at him. His jaw is clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Zayn’s not entirely sure how John can look at Liam dead on when he looks like this because he looks terrifying. 

“Zayn,” Liam practically growls, his voice rumbling out of him and it sounds so angry, the way it falls across the table.

John stares at him then flicks his gaze to Zayn. “What?” he asks, annoyed at being confused.

“My husband’s name,” Liam says again, articulating, “is Zayn. You can address him as Zayn or you don’t get to address him at all.”

Like a blossom, pride glows in Zayn’s chest.

John rolls his eyes. “Ugh, what’re you talking about?” There’s one last swig of whiskey in his glass that he takes now, tipping his head all the way back.

“Liam, please,” Karen starts again, because Liam has dropped Zayn’s hand and has stood up. He looks huge like this, hulking, his fury out of place in his Christmas sweater, his starched collar. His cheeks are flushed and he looks only a little unstable, the alcohol betraying him, leaning forward slightly with his hands for balance on the table. But Liam ignores Karen and focuses all of his attention on John.

“I’m talking about the disgusting lack of respect you show to us every time we come here,” Liam snaps, voice strong and steady. Zayn stretches his foot out until it’s pressed beside Liam’s, hoping that it’s touch enough to tether him. “I’m talking about how you still treat me like a little kid, like I can’t make my own decisions and the—the ones I _do_ make aren’t good enough because they’re not the same ones you’d make.”

John is leaning back in his chair with his arms folded, looking eerily similar to Liam earlier, and Zayn hates that he can find any complementary characteristics between them at all. John looks bored but his eyes are attentive, locked onto Liam’s.

“That’s not—” he starts, always eager to cut someone off.

“I’m not finished, John, so shut the fuck up,” Liam bites, and he never swears in front of his mum, even at this age. “And I don’t know why you keep going on about the money Alfred left me; you’ve got plenty! _More_ than plenty! So I know it’s only jealousy that has you saying stuff like that, and bitterness. Well, it’s pathetic.”

For the first time since they started, John looks taken aback. He licks his lips and shifts his eyes. “I’m not jealous.”

“You are,” Liam insists. “Jealous that for once it wasn’t all about you. Alfred could’ve left me half as much money as he did, or nothing at all, and I would still—” he pauses, his voice catching. Zayn acts on instinct and brings up a hand to rub at his back. Liam closes his eyes for a minute and leans back into his touch. “I would still,” he goes on, softer this time, “love and miss him every single day he’s not here. His death wasn’t a bloody competition for _fuck’s_ sake.”

“I _never_ said—”

“You didn’t have to,” Liam cuts him off, shaking his head. “It’s obvious. Each time we come here, it’s something different you’ve got to rag on me about. Well I’m done.” He cups his hand around the back of Zayn’s neck and squeezes. “ _We’re_ done,” he qualifies.

Then he blinks into the silence of the room a few times and, scraping his chair back to get around it, he leaves the room, his shoulders hunched and his feet heavy going upstairs.

Immediately when he leaves, it’s a barrage of everyone talking at once, Karen and Nicola yelling at John, John yelling at everyone, everyone saying nothing that Zayn wants to hear. He concentrates on getting his breathing under control for a second, watching the snow fall out the window. If he strains he can see where it’s falling on the snowman, pretty soon going to completely cover the carrot stuck in his head for a nose.

When Zayn stands up, everyone goes quiet and turns to look at him. He pulls his napkin from his lap and drops it on the table. He doesn’t look at anyone but John. There’s wine sloshing through his brain but he’s never felt more clear-headed.

His voice is shaky with rage when he says, “I don’t give a shit what you think about me. But if you ever,” he pauses, pleased to see that John wilts a little, “make Liam feel like he’s less than you, like he deserves less than you, as though you’re somebody worth living up to, I swear to _fuck_ I will smash your smug face in.”

Nicola, bless her, snorts into her coffee and tries to disguise it as a cough. Karen and the other family members just gape at him and it’s painfully apparent that they don’t know what to do.

John says something in reply, overdramatic and callow, but Zayn has already turned his back to all of them and is taking the stairs up to Liam, two at a time.

Liam’s not in their room. There's a soft glow coming from the slightly ajar bathroom door so Zayn steps through. Liam is reclined in the tub, filled to the neck with bubbles. He’s lit a few candles and the flickering lights cast shadows over his face. His head is leaned back over the edge of the tub, eyes closed, and his hair is sticking to his forehead. There’s a huge window behind the tub and the trees stand out in silhouette, the candlelight dancing eerily on the glass.

“Babe,” Zayn whispers, and when Liam opens his eyes to see him Zayn’s heart nearly shatters. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy from where he’s been crying. He gives Zayn a thin smile and lifts a hand from the water to hold it out to him.

“Oh, my love,” Zayn says, grabbing his hand and kneeling beside him on the floor. Even though it's wet, Zayn presses a kiss to the back of Liam's hand and keeps pressing kisses, over and over. He doesn’t say anything, because what is he supposed to say? Other than the obvious. And he figures Liam’s had enough talking anyway, so he just holds his hand and traces patterns into his wrist with his fingers.

They stay like that for a minute. The voices from downstairs float up to them but Zayn pays them no mind. He can hear Nicola at least, louder than all the others, and she’s always been quick to defend Liam too, to raise her voice unapologetically. Eventually Liam shifts, sitting up straighter so his chest pops out of the water and he tugs on Zayn’s hand, telling him to come in. Zayn stands and chucks his clothes. The water’s still warm when he steps in and Liam spreads his legs, pulling Zayn down until they’re flush, back to chest. He pulls at Zayn’s bun until his hair tumbles down and he slides the hair tie on his wrist. Zayn sighs and relaxes back into him fully, turning his head to kiss Liam’s shoulder blade and let the tips of his hair catch the bubbles.

The only sound is that of their breathing and the gentle ebb and flow of the water moving with their bodies.

“I hate having to do that,” Liam says softly. Zayn wasn’t sure if they were going to talk about it but it looks like they are.

He nuzzles up as best he can under Liam’s chin. “I know.”

“I just, ugh,” Liam says, running his fingers lightly up Zayn’s arm. “I always feel like a kid again. Like nothing I do or say is ever going to be good enough.”

Unfortunately, for John, it probably never will be. He and Liam have been dancing around this argument for years. It’s a conversation that has made various appearances but has always ended the same way, with Liam pushed into a corner forced to bare his teeth and claw his way out.

“But you are enough, you know that right?” Zayn asks. “You’re more than.”

Liam presses a light kiss to the top of his head. “Yeah, I do but...I shouldn’t have to explain that to my own brother, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, craning his head back to look into Liam’s eyes. “You really, really shouldn’t.”

Liam smiles weakly and leans down until their lips connect. It’s nice, almost innocent in its gentleness. “One day,” Liam says wistfully as he pulls back.

He runs his hands through Zayn’s hair slowly and the warm water feels soothing. Zayn hums his appreciation. “So what happened when I left? Any plates broken? Did mum cry?”

“Ha,” Zayn says humorlessly. “Not quite. I did tell John I’d smash his face in if he ever talked to you like that again.”

Liam mock gasps. “Zayn, you didn’t.”

“Like hell I didn’t. And I meant it, too.” The more Liam pulls through his hair, the heavier Zayn’s eyes feel until he’s completely closed them, letting the water and Liam’s solid weight behind him quell the last lingering snippets of his anger.

“My hero,” Liam whispers jokingly, but he tightens his arms around him all the same.

 

* * *

 

It takes a massive breakfast, John and Liam spending an hour alone taking a drive into town, and John rushing an apology to Zayn when they get back, promising that he’ll try not to be such a prick in the future, to put things right.

Zayn glances to Liam before he says anything and Liam only grins and rolls his eyes, because they both know it’s a lie. But John’s his brother, he’s family, so what the fuck can you do? Accept it, Zayn supposes, smiling weakly.

“Yeah alright,” he says, and goes back to playing with Alfie and Ruby in the snow. If it hurts when Zayn launches a snowball at the back of John’s head, well; it’s his own fault for being too slow on his way back into the house.

Christmas Eve is always a lazy day, mostly, with everyone mostly fending for themselves. Zayn hides out in the library for bit, first to do some reading then to call Sonia. He tells her about the thing with John and she smacks her lips, demanding why he hasn’t been murdered yet. Then he calls Niall, which turns into a Skype session with Harry and all of Niall’s family, as they’re spending the holiday in Mullingar. Zayn promises to give their love to everyone when they sign off.

They watch A Christmas Carol that night, all huddled around the glow of the Christmas tree. The kids fall asleep, of course, so when the movie stops Liam and Zayn carry them up to their beds. They stir a bit when they change them into their pyjamas but Liam shushes them, murmurs to them that Santa will be here soon so their little eyes will have to close and stay closed til morning.

Then morning comes and it’s always such a delight to see the kids’ faces when they barrel downstairs first thing, turning the corner and gasping when they see how the amount of presents under the tree has tripled overnight. Liam and Zayn watch them from the kitchen doorway, tearing into presents with their cousins, and they share a look and clink their coffee mugs together, cheering another Christmas well done. Once Liam had fully tucked the kids in last night, he and Zayn had bundled up and trudged out to the car for the rest of the gifts that had been wedged in the boot so the kids wouldn’t see. Giggling like children themselves, they’d snuck back through the house and arranged them around the tree, both stopping to take huge bites out of the cookies left for Santa.

Saying goodbye to family is always hard, but they do it. Arranged around the car to see them off, everyone makes promises to visit more and call often. Zayn gives Liam a moment alone with his family and busies himself getting the kids situated in the car. There’s a tap on his shoulder and it’s Karen, teary eyed and thanking him for coming, for being so—so—

Zayn cuts her off and wraps his arms around her. “Karen, don’t be daft. Of course we came.”

She sniffles a little. “I know, but things are—hard sometimes, you know. And I just, really appreciate you taking care of my baby boy.” She beams over at Liam who’s getting in the car to start it.

“I love him,” Zayn smiles, shrugging.

“I know you do,” Karen grins back, finally pushing him away and telling them to get on the road before it gets too dark, demanding that they call her as soon as they get back.

“Bye, Granny!” The twins shout, waving their little hands at the window. Everyone gathered on the porch waves back and the last thing Zayn sees as they pull down the hill is John, waving and looking somewhat sour.

“Things will be better next year,” Liam says softly, noticing Zayn’s face.

Zayn blinks at him and raises his hand to rub at his cheek. Liam turns his face slightly into it. “Okay,” he says. Because whether or not things will be better, they’ll be there together. 

 

* * *

 

It’s been cold for ten million years.

That’s Zayn’s first thought when he wakes up and feels the chill seeped into his bones. They’d gotten the heater fixed multiple times at this point, but it continued to spite them every time and keep breaking. Zayn insisted they just buy a new one. Liam insisted that he could fix it. It was a wearisome conversation that never ended in a solution, other than they’d just continue to freeze to death, Zayn supposed, while Liam held nice and tight to his pride.

It’s Liam’s muffled cursing that wakes Zayn. He trips over shoes that he had left right in the door to their bedroom. Zayn doesn’t sit up though; he doesn’t stir at all.

The air changes the second Liam gets in the room; in the pacing of his steps, the heaviness in the way his mouth forms a whispered “bollocks,” Zayn knows that Liam is not in a good mood. Instead of climbing into bed gingerly as he has taken to doing after a long night at work, Zayn can hear the flick of the bathroom switch and the shutting of the bathroom door. He blinks his eyes open and his lashes brush the pillow. He adjusts slowly to the darkness and the neon of the clock on the nightstand reads 1:18 am.

Jesus, but that’s late.

Once January rolled around, business for Liam had picked up faster than anyone expected. Living in a small village with no major retailer within miles for common household problems meant often going without fixes to those problems; but once winter fully set in and people remembered that there was, in fact, now a light at the end of the tunnel in the shape of Liam and Paynefully Handy, the phone was ringing off the hook.

Multiple times in the last few weeks, Zayn had had to get the kids ready for school and walk them all by himself. If Liam wasn’t already out at a job before the sun broke, then he was sleeping in because he’d worked late on a job.

But late had usually been no later than 11:00 or so. To see 1:00 am is a little upsetting.

There’s the harsh, creaking sound of the faucets being turned on and then the thunderous sound of water hitting the tiled shower floor. Liam’s never in there very long, not when he’s tired. Zayn breathes in and out, for as long as it takes until Liam shuts off the taps and starts to dry off. Zayn tries to center himself and prep; for what he’s not sure. But he rights himself and plants his feet on the cold wood all the same, pulling his sweater down until the sleeves cover his hands and he can wrap them around himself. It’ll be warm in the bathroom now at least, so he steps in and shuts the door behind him before any of the chill can make it’s way through.

He squints and blinks against the bright light and Liam’s back is to him from his spot at the sink where he's brushing his teeth.

“Hey,” he croaks out.

Liam jumps and cranes his neck back. “Hey,” he says around a mouth full of toothpaste. He spits into the sink.

Zayn pads over and pulls the toilet seat down so he can sit on it. The warm vapors from the shower feel good on his face, plastering his hair to the sides of his face where it’s hanging loose. Liam’s back is glistening, the muscles tight around his shoulders, hunched as he is over the sink. It's apparent that he’s tense. The towel at his waist is knotted sloppily and it hangs low enough that Zayn can see the back dimples etched into his skin.

“How was the job?” Zayn tries, because it’s just been the sound of Liam’s toothbrush over his teeth and the howling wind outside.

Liam just shrugs and doesn’t move his head up from where it’s hanging down.

There’s a nasty feeling then that jerks in the pit of Zayn’s stomach and works its way up to his chest.

“Well what took so long?” he tries again, trying to keep his voice even but being too tired to try very hard.

Liam spits and rinses and plops his brush back in the cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Dunno,” he mutters, dropping his towel and walking out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing out into their bedroom. There’s the sound of drawers opening and the snap of him pulling on pants then he’s back in the bathroom, bending to pick up his towel and hang it like he’s supposed to. Like Zayn was about to remind him to, already drawing the breath for it. There’s a snap to his wrist when he hangs the towel on the hook that Zayn doesn’t like at all.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Look, do we really have to do this now?”

“Do _what_ now?” Zayn asks, and it feels strange to argue in whispers, both of them subconsciously knowing that anything louder will wake the kids. Moving into a bigger house had meant more space and more privacy but they had learned early on that it didn’t mean anything when it came to Alfie’s and Ruby’s perception and their ability to pick up on the slightest sounds.

So it sounds like Liam’s hissing when he says, “ _This_ , exactly this, whatever you’re about to say that I just—I just—,” he’s opening and closing cabinets, the ones under the sink and the medicine cabinet. “Where’s the bloody…”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You moved it to the back, remember? Behind the toilet paper,” because of course he knows what Liam’s talking about. But Liam doesn’t even pause, not to acknowledge that he needed help or to thank him, before snatching at the mouthwash and popping it open to fill the cap.

Zayn watches his hands, tighter than they need to be, the veins starker than they usually are. Liam tips his head back, rigid, when he takes the mouthwash. He locks eyes with his own expression in the mirror, not even glancing at Zayn even though the steam has cleared on the mirror and he’s clearly visible there in the corner.

It’s petty but Zayn doesn’t care. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t want to hear me say that I’m worried about you, that I hate knowing you’re working yourself haggard every night?”

Liam doesn’t even flinch, just swishes his cheeks from side to side.

Even though the heat escapes, Zayn uncrosses his arms and stands up for this because he’ll be fucked if he doesn’t get it out. This used to make him nervous, standing up to Liam, to anyone, until Liam had shown him that however upset he got, however angry, he was the last person that Zayn had to be afraid of. Ever. But that doesn’t stop his breath from stuttering all the same.

“What is it exactly that you don’t want to hear me say? That our kids have barely seen you all week?”

That gets a reaction from Liam, albeit a small one. His eyes flick to Zayn in the mirror.

“That _I’ve_ barely seen you all week,” Zayn continues, and he already misses the heat of before, all of it rushing out the still-open door into their bedroom, “that I can’t know what you need from me until you talk to me? That I can’t help you?”

Liam spits into the sink. The green liquid splashes with the force of it. “I don’t need anything, Zayn.”

The “from you” is implied and it hurts like a motherfucker. And Zayn knows he doesn’t mean it but his face still gets hot. He moves forward even as Liam moves away.

“Oh, fine! Things are working out okay then for you, are they? Doing everything on your own with no help?”

“Just peachy,” Liam says through gritted teeth, bending to pick up his boots from the floor.

Zayn follows him into the bedroom. “Oh bullshit, Liam. What’s this really about?”

“ _Nothing._ There’s _nothing_ to talk about,” Liam says, brushing past him back into the bathroom for the rest of his clothes. It’s significantly colder in the bedroom. Zayn shakes his sleeves down again until they cover his hands. He wraps his arms around himself even though it’s a defensive pose and he doesn’t want to do it. Liam’s still just in pants and half-damp skin.

“At least put some clothes on,” Zayn snaps, and it’s the first thing he’s said since they started that’s gotten Liam to look at him directly. He’s got his jeans in one hand and his belt in the other and he pauses on his way to the closet to stare. It lasts for less than a second and in that minuscule time when Zayn decides to open his mouth again, to let his voice be sweet even though his body is still keyed up, Liam breaks the moment, looking away and marching to the closet like he can’t be bothered.

If he didn’t think it would wake up the kids, Zayn would throw something. This is so fucking stupid.

Liam pulls a t-shirt over his head only he puts his head in one of the arm holes so he gets caught. He swears and pulls it off so he can try again. He’s in silhouette against the window and there’s barely any light in the bedroom but the stream coming from the bathroom. Any other time, Zayn would laugh at Liam struggling but right now it feels like if he laughs Liam will never talk to him again. Or something crazy like that.

And he doesn’t know why he always feels these things, why his brain always jumps to the worst possible scenario at even the hint of conflict, but it’s a monster that he’s battled for years and every time it rears it’s head it looks different, it feels different, and Zayn can’t remember for the life of him how he ever managed to defeat it before.

“Just leave it, Zayn.” Liam’s voice knocks Zayn out of his thoughts. He’s sliding into bed, burrowing himself in the covers and pulling them up so all that peeks out is the top of his head, his still-damp hairs.

It’s the single most insulting thing Liam could have done, running away and hiding. Suddenly Zayn knows that he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep. Especially not beside Liam, whose body will be radiating heat as usual but will otherwise be as frigid and unrelenting as the winter itself.

The clock blinks to 1:30 and Zayn would rather exercise then spend another minute in this room so he bites, “Well fuck you then,” and it’s not a whisper; it’s level volume, it’s clear, and his voice absolutely does not shake. He walks back into the bathroom and closes the door.

Irritated, he opens the cabinets under the sink and blindly pats his hand around until he finds what he’s looking for. “Ah,” he says once his fingers close around it. He pulls the tape that’s holding it to the top of cabinet until it comes free. There’s a lighter resting by the candles on the floor by the tub so he snags that. He has to stand on tiptoe to reach the window and he pushes with his hand until it pops open a crack. Immediately, the wind sends a gust of air through that bring a few snow flurries as well.

Zayn honestly can’t be bothered because the only thing on his mind is the cigarettes in his hand and how that first drag is going to feel, ironic, like it’s breathing life into him.

It’s a clawfoot tub, polished back to its original shine but still showing some character wear and tear. When Zayn sprawls out completely in it, lighting a cigarette and inhaling around the filter, tilting his head back, he feels opulent and majestic as fuck. It’s incredible. He paces his drags, savoring each one, and the smoke clears his head. They taste a little old to be honest, it being a few months since he’s managed to buy a pack in secret and tape it under the bathroom sink, but it’s better than nothing.

And it’s better than what Liam was giving him, Zayn thinks to himself, which is even worse than nothing, an indifference so uncalled for it was cruel. The tub is almost unbearably cold on his feet, on his ankles where his pajama pants are bunched up, and his fingers shake even as he brings the cigarette to his mouth again but it’s still so good. The dull smell of cloves takes him back to the last time he was able to do this, properly, one after the other without a thought. That would’ve been five years ago, before the kids.

He pauses on his next inhale, letting it simmer. He supposes that some congratulations are owed to him, being a five year non-smoker.

“Good on you, kid,” he says to himself, laughing at his own corniness and trying not to cough too loud on the exhale.

Abruptly, there’s a rustling and an approach; then there’s Liam, standing in the doorway with his hair askew and his eyes hard. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks, innocently bewildered, like it’s not bloody apparent.

Zayn taps out ash into the drain of the tub. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” He curls his lips around the butt and puts all his might behind blowing smoke out in Liam’s direction.

Bad move. Liam strides forward and snatches the cigarette out of his mouth before he knows what’s happening, takes it to the sink and stubs it out furiously.

“You fuckin—”

“ _You_ ,” Liam says, whirling around and pointing. “Made me a promise. _We_ ,” he gestures between them, “made a fucking promise.”

Zayn’s a little lightheaded from the cigarette but that’s not why he wobbles when he gets up to stand out of the tub. It’s not. The tub is just stupidly deep.

“Oh did we?” he starts, outraged, because if Liam can call up his anger like it’s nothing, can lash it out and smack him across the face with it like the tail end of a whip, then he can too. “I remember another promise we made, to communicate to each other? To trust each other?”

Liam’s face crumples, but just for a second. It’s enough to make Zayn feel like a right bastard but then he starts up again, indignant to the last. “We said no more smoking.”

“Stop avoiding my questions. _Stop_ avoiding me.” A gust of wind breaks through the window, carrying over Zayn’s whispered demands, but Liam, if he hears it, talks over it.

“You told me—you said—we weren’t doing this anymore. For the kids, Zayn, Christ.”

Zayn sneers. “Oh give it up Liam, like one cigarette every few months is going to hurt anyone. The kids are asleep!”

“But you _said_ —”

“I know what I _bloody_ said,” Zayn whisper-yells, and there’s a lot of anger in him suddenly, so much that it scares him.

He looks at Liam and it hits him all at once. His feet are freezing; there’s no warmth left in the bathroom and he cares a lot more about the wind now than he did ten minutes ago. His eyes are dry, from lack of solid sleep and his stupid contacts that he forgot to take out. His neck is tight from hunching up against the cold, his throat is dry and he needs some water but Liam’s at the sink, infuriating fucking _Liam_ who still, even now, manages to be beautiful in his ugliest moment.

There’s so much anger in Zayn and it’s got nowhere to go but out.

“What do you think drove me in here in the first place, hm? I didn’t do it because I wanted to.”

Liam laughs and it puffs out like dust. “Right, so you’re saying that I made you do it.”

“Yeah, actually, that’s exactly what I’m saying. If you weren’t so bloody stubborn and—”

“But there’s _nothing_ to talk about!” Liam throws his arms out like he’s at a loss. “Nothing, Zayn! I’m just—tired, and work is—”

“ _Fuck_ work, we’ve all got work,” and the window is well and truly rattling now, the wind having picked up, so Zayn smacks his lips and steps back into the tub so he can reach up and pull it shut. When he turns back to Liam, Liam is staring at him blankly to finish, arms crossed and leaning back against the counter. “This is more than work, Liam, I know you. I don’t know why you always seem to forget that.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten anything, please don’t insult my intelligence like that.”

Zayn thinks that if Liam considered _that_ an insult, then clearly he has not been paying enough attention to Zayn's insults throughout the years.

“Could’ve fooled me. Did you forget what those words meant? You know; those vows we took? In sickness and in health? To have and to hold?”

“Stop... _stop_ ,” Liam says, folding his hands behind his neck and closing his eyes, “talking to me like I’m a child.”

Zayn shrugs. “Stop acting like one.”

Liam laughs darkly. “Is that honestly what?—You know what, you can have these.” He flings the packet of cigarettes back at Zayn and it’s all he can do to catch it in time. “I’m going back to bed.”

Zayn nearly breaks his neck running to the door. He plasters himself against it, the doorknob digging into his lower back. He’s still holding the cigarettes so he chucks them across the bathroom.

“You’re not going anywhere until we’ve had this out,” he threatens, and Liam was only steps away from the door before but he doesn’t stop walking just because Zayn’s blocked his way.

“Zayn,” he says, and his expression is so one-track, so zeroed in on Zayn it almost pains him, his voice deep and as no-nonsense as Zayn’s ever heard it. “Move.”

And yet, if Liam thinks that anything he can do could terrify Zayn at this point then he is very mistaken. He stares right back at Liam, setting his jaw before he pointedly says, “Fuck,” lets it fall heavy between them, lets it sit there for a minute; “Off.”

Liam’s eyes flash. Slowly, he brings an arm up and plants it beside Zayn’s head on the door. There’s a hole under the armpit and Zayn can see the hairs there. He smells like soap, and cold, and harbored strength. Liam flexes his fingers on the door and Zayn can hear them scratch the wood. The wind is still wailing outside.

“I can move you.”

“You won’t.”

“Why won’t I?”

“You know better.”

Liam’s close enough now that Zayn can lean forward and breathe him in, so he does. Can run his nose along the stubble on his chin, the soft planes of his neck, can lick at his mouth with his tongue just because he needs to taste him; so he does.

“Tell me,” he whispers, digging his nails as hard as he can into Liam’s forearm by his head, “what the fuck is wrong.”

Liam whimpers when Zayn’s nails go in as deep as they can and his eyes blink slowly, open and closed, drizzled like syrup. With his other hand, he slides up the column of Zayn’s throat, letting him get used to the feel of it, before he tightens his fingers slightly and Zayn thunks his head back against the door, tilting it.

“That’s just it,” Liam whispers back, plush lips gluing the words to Zayn’s ears, “nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong at all.”

There’s a beat of time where they just stare at each other. Liam’s eyes are darting back and forth and his mouth is twitching, like he’s know where they’re going and he’s hesitant; but where was that when he was pushing Zayn away easily, like it didn’t cost him anything?

Zayn doesn’t want his hesitation and he doesn’t want to talk anymore so he leans forward and kisses him.

It’s just as ugly and venomous as everything else. Liam kisses back immediately, harsh, like he wants to eat him. Zayn doesn’t bother with pleasantries like being careful with his teeth or letting Liam pull away to catch his breath. He pulls him closer by the ratty neck of his t-shirt and he bites his way into his mouth. He wants it to hurt, like the fresh ache in his chest from the way Liam’s been acting.

Liam is cupping Zayn’s jaw but it’s too gentle so Zayn groans and turns his head away, breaking the kiss.

“You’re mad, yeah?” Zayn pants out, holding on to Liam’s slightly dazed expression. “Well be fucking mad.”

Liam stares at him for a second. Then he moves fast, taking his hand back to Zayn’s jaw and turning his head to the side, so he can groan and lick a broad stripe from his Adam’s apple all the way to his ear.

Liam’s got a grip on his hair that’s just a touch on the wrong side of too tight but it feels _fucking_ stunning. Especially when Zayn tries to pull away from it and the restriction of it, the way Liam doesn’t let up at all, makes his cock twitch. Liam’s whole body is thrumming, Zayn can feel it when he steps closer. His mouth is relentless when it locks with Zayn’s again, like the longer they can keep their mouths together the less chance they have of talking. And that’s fine with Zayn, really, because he doesn’t want to talk anymore.

Instead, he reaches a hand up and grips at Liam’s forearm that’s still pressed to the door beside his head. It’s so strong and sturdy that Zayn can anchor himself to it, rubbing with his thumb along the nail prints he had left earlier. As soon as he presses down on one, Liam groans and pushes further into him, pressing him back against the door. The knob is digging uncomfortably into Zayn’s lower back but he barely feels it because Liam’s drops his arm and steps even closer into Zayn’s space, so close that he can feel his heat everywhere.

Zayn whimpers when Liam pulls away. But then Liam puts both of his hands under Zayn’s bum and lifts him, effortlessly, and Zayn instinctively wraps his legs around Liam’s waist.

“God, yeah,” Zayn says, because Liam’s hands are digging into his hips to hold him in place and he can just barely feel the brush of his cock against his own.

They kiss again because it would be ridiculous not to, when Liam’s mouth is swollen and right there and Zayn feels like a slut just for the way he can rock his hips down into him, banging back into the door.

He scratches down the back of Liam’s head, his shoulders, everywhere he can reach and Liam pants into his mouth like he doesn’t want him to stop. The urgency is apparent in the way Liam keeps thrusting forward, keeps roaming his hands from Zayn’s waist to his ass so he can squeeze there.

“Li-Liam, Liam,” Zayn tries, turning his head to catch his breath and moaning when Liam palms over his cock in his pants. “Just--”

“If you’re talking I can’t kiss you,” Liam whispers, squeezing with his hand around the head of Zayn’s cock.

Zayn huffs around a laugh and kisses Liam quickly. “Don’t need you to kiss me. Need you to take me to bed.”

Liam doesn’t even blink before he leans back from the door, holding both his and Zayn’s weight steady. Zayn wraps his arms around Liam’s shoulders and closes his eyes so the spinning won’t make him dizzy, trusting that when Liam flicks off the bathroom light he’ll be able to get them both safely to the bed in the darkness. It’s so hot, the way Liam can hold him with one strong arm behind his back, and Zayn pants his praise in his ear.

When they drop it’s on the soft mattress. The sheets are freezing on Zayn’s back but Liam is on top of him, pressing him down with his weight. Zayn spreads his legs and Liam gets a knee between them. The second it’s level with his crotch, Zayn shoves down onto it. He has to throw his head back with how good it feels, his dick just starting to tent his pajama bottoms because of the pressure. Liam’s scratching at Zayn’s shirt, trying to pull it over his head, but Zayn’s too preoccupied to help him, attention arrested by Liam’s firm thigh between his legs, by the way if he pumps his hips up he can get his dick to slide on it.

“Jesus Christ,” he moans out, and Liam finally gets his shirt over his head. Then he leans back and pulls his own shirt off. His hair looks wild, the moon streaming in to catch on it and flickering on his eyes. Zayn reaches a hand up and slides it down Liam’s chest, revelling at how he can feel Liam’s pulse beat back against him. He moves his hand down to squeeze his dick through his pants and his mouth goes dry. He stares up at Liam, just to see if he’ll be able to recognize the look on his face, how slack his jaw is because Liam’s so big and hard in his hands. Zayn thumbs at the head a little, pressing the cotton of his pants into the slit where it’s wet, and Liam bites his lip and rocks into it.

“Zayn,” Liam starts, whispering, but he doesn’t finish. He bends and kisses down Zayn’s middle until he reaches his pajama bottoms and he pulls them off. Zayn isn’t wearing any pants so his dick goes springing, searching immediately for Liam’s mouth. Liam has pity on him and, with a groan, wraps his lips around it, sucking him down with an easy slide.

“ _Ohh_ , yeah,” Zayn groans, dropping his head back on the bed. But Liam’s teasing, keeping his lips too loose and too sloppy to really give Zayn anything to thrust into, so Zayn takes an open palm to his cheek, slapping him lightly. The sound echoes through the room.

“Suck me like you mean it,” he says, and Liam whines and sucks, _hard_ , pulling all the way off.

“Like that?” He asks, holding Zayn at the base and kissing around the head. Then, quickly, he sucks again, just one quick pull but tight enough to make Zayn’s back curve on the bed.

Zayn claws at the sheets and wishes he could be anything but desperate when it came to Liam between his legs, anything but blindingly, achingly needy.

“Yeah, like,” he breathes out, just as Liam blows cool air over his dick, “ _ungh,_ just like that yeah, that’s—that’s—”

“Brilliant, I think, is the word you’re looking for,” Liam says, smirking, then he shuts himself up with Zayn’s cock down his throat.

It’s not the easiest blowjob Zayn has ever gotten, not by a longshot. Liam makes him work for it. He uses his teeth every now and then, just sliding them a little when he pulls up, and it’s so unexpectedly good it makes Zayn’s toes curl. Zayn tries to thrust a few times but every time his thighs so much as quiver, Liam clamps his hands around him and holds him still. Zayn can’t move at all, just has to stay still and take it and try not to pull out too much of his own hair. He can’t help making noise though, whining and groaning his way through it, but it seems to encourage Liam to keep going so he doesn’t tell him to stop.

When he comes, it’s so good he can’t make any noise at all. He blinks his eyes open to find Liam still kneeling over him, kissing his thighs, face flushed and mouth visibly slick even in the darkness. Zayn rolls over until he’s got Liam beneath him and he slides between his knees, pulling them slowly apart, and wastes no pretense in getting Liam’s dick down his throat.

He’s salty, and hot, the taste filling Zayn’s mouth and reminding him just how long it’s been since he’s had it.

He pulls off and looks up. “You don’t deserve this,” he says, voice rough and worn.

Liam smiles, slowly, and rubs his thumb over Zayn’s lips. “I don’t?”

Zayn sucks at his thumb, licking around it, and nips it with his teeth when he lets it go. “No. You old cranky bastard.”

Liam laughs fully then, stretching his arms behind his head. “Why don’t you keep on and show me how much I don’t deserve it?”

Aroused beyond measure at Liam’s ability to both infuriate and charm him at the same time, Zayn grabs his balls and _yanks_. Liam yelps, which, good. “Only because you taste so good,” he concedes, watching Liam’s expression. “And only if you talk to me afterwards.”

“D-deal,” Liam stutters out, because Zayn’s started rolling his balls in his hand.

“Great,” Zayn says, sinking down to press his mouth to Liam’s cock again. “You’re a right shit when you’re randy anyways, I should have known.”

Liam laughs and thunks his head back against the bed when Zayn sucks him down. Zayn makes it hurt a little, makes it last longer than it probably needs to, his jaw aching from the effort, but eventually Liam comes all the same, pulsing down his throat.

Zayn pulls off and Liam gestures lazily for him to come up, so Zayn crawls up the bed and flops down with his head tucked under Liam’s chin. He plays with the hair on his chest and they just breathe for a minute, listening to the sound of the wind and all the creaks in the house. There’s no pattering footsteps, which is good, and Zayn is grateful that he tired the kids out with a game of hide-and-go-seek after dinner.

“So what’s up, old man?” He asks. Liam brings an arm around him and pulls him closer, running a hand down his naked back.

Sighing, Liam reaches down and pulls up the covers. “I don’t know, I just…I want to like, take care of you. And the kids.”

Zayn looks up at him and narrows his eyes. “But that’s exactly what you do.”

“No, I know, I just—,” Liam shrugs, looking away towards the window. “I mean, the house is still a mess. I moved us here for fuck’s sake and I can’t even get half the things right. Your office still isn’t finished and the kids don’t have a play room and—”

Startled, Zayn sits up and turns Liam’s head with his hands to face him. “Hey, hey, shh, where’s all this coming from, eh? _We_ moved us here. It was a joint decision, remember?”

Liam pouts and stares at Zayn with scared eyes. “It was, but like. I dunno. It’s not perfect, is it?” His voice is so delicate.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, breath catching in his throat. “It’s not? Liam, _everything_ about this has been perfect. All the way down to the shit heater, I love it.” He traces the laugh lines in Liam’s face. “It’s perfect because we get to make it our own, yeah? You, me, the kids? We get to create this—this crazy, insane thing,” Liam rolls his eyes and smiles, “No we do! I love it, honestly! And _you’ve_ been perfect. I mean I would like if you worked a little bit less, but. We’ll get there, yeah?”

Liam takes Zayn’s hand and squeezes it, bringing it to his lips to kiss the mandala inked there. “Is that really what you think?”

“ _Yes_ , you _dumb_ fuck. Especially about the working less.”

Liam pokes his lip out. “But our neighbors, they need me. I want to make a good impression on them, you know—new to town and all.”

Zayn sinks down lower under the covers, turning so Liam will spoon him and burrowing back into him. “Yeah, well. I need you. Alfie and Ru need you.”

Liam wraps his arm around him and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I know, sweetheart, I do.”

“And fuck the neighbors if they don’t like us; we’re not here to impress anyone.”

Liam snorts. “Easy for you to say. Everyone’s already head over heels for you, looking as delectable as you do.”

“Could say the same…”

“But you won’t?”

“Nope,” Zayn says, popping his lips around it.

Liam pinches his side so he squirms. “I do need to be home more though, I know that. I’ll get Kev to pick up some of the slack, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Zayn says, yawning. “Also you could bloody hire someone.”

Liam groans disapprovingly. “Ugh, then I’ll have to train them and follow up with them and—”

“Like you had to be trained, you mean?”

Liam stops short. “Ugh,” he says again, in defeat. “Why do you have to be right all the time?”

Zayn closes his eyes and smiles. “I’m your husband. It’s my job.”

Liam says something else but Zayn can’t make it out because he’s already floating off to sleep. In the morning though, Liam’s not in bed. Zayn makes his way downstairs to find the kids at the table, a huge stack of pancakes in front of them, and Liam at the stove with a towel tossed over his shoulder and a spatula in his hand. He hands Zayn a stack of pancakes when he sees him, presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and shuffles him over to sit with the kids.

“Daddy’s pancakes are better than yours,” Alfie says, blueberry syrup turning his tongue purple.

“That’s not nice,” Ruby says to him with a stern look on her face.

Zayn laughs and cuts into his stack. “No, it’s alright love. He’s right.” He turns to look at Liam at the stove and winks, delighted when Liam winks back. “Daddy’s the best.”

 

 

 


	3. Spring

“Step right up, step right up! Who’s got what it takes to win the grand prize?”

Like he can’t help it, Liam wavers slightly in the direction of the yelling man. The carny looks authentic, in his striped suit and top hat. But he also looks like he knows how to swindle you out of a pound, or thirty. Zayn knows Liam wavers because they’re holding hands and when Liam swerves, they both swerve.

“No you bloody don’t,” Zayn says under his breath so the kids won’t hear.

Liam pulls an affronted face. “No I don’t what?”

“You will wait at least half an hour before running off to lose exorbitant amounts of money on games.”

“But—!”

“ _Half an hour_ ,” Zayn stresses, but he’s laughing despite himself because Liam is so ridiculous. He squeezes his hand encouragingly and pulls them along. “We’ve only just got here!”

Liam sighs dramatically. “I know, I know. But they’re just so _fun_ …” he trails off, staring wistfully behind him at all the prizes lining the booth walls.

Zayn laughs and tosses a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. “I know love, now come on.”

For as miserable as winter was, spring has already begun beautifully, cloaking the entire valley in all things green and cheery. It had come on slowly. Alfie had kept great chronicles of the changing seasons and every morning on their walk to school there was something different to be excited about. First, it was watching all the snow melt away and being able to jump in puddles. Next, it was the bright purples and blues in a patch of wildflowers sprouting at the end of their driveway. Then, caterpillars and ladybugs and earthworms in the grass, all popping their heads out to say hello; Alfie was always sure to answer, brightly shouting “hiya!” to every creature, human or not, that moved.

Now, the season is in full swing. Everything has a touch of warmth, everyone’s got a burst of energy, and it smells like—

“Sweat, horse shit, and processed sugar, oh my!”

Liam swats playfully at Sonia’s arm. “Not in front of the kids! How many times must we tell you?”

Sonia hits Liam back. “Oh please, they can’t hear me. They’re not even on this planet anymore,” she says, gesturing to them.

And they’re not; Ruby and Alfie are holding tight to each other’s hands, as they’ve been told to do when in large crowds like this one, and they’re taking their time looking at everything in big-eyed wonder.

They’re at the village’s annual Spring Festival. It’s a whole day of carnival rides, petting zoos, and cotton candy. Alfie and Ruby had been talking about it nonstop for months. Ever since their preschool teacher had brought it up, they’d begged and pleaded to go. Zayn had planned a family outing for it already, some of his clients telling him it would be great for the kids. Not only that, but Liam’s eyes had lit up the second he’d heard “carnival” and “games.” And it was nice to be here, this crisp day in May, all together again after so many weeks of spending little time together, with business for both Zayn and Liam picking up as they settled more into their new lives.

The twins look adorable in their wellies, both of them bright yellow, and their faces so expressive at everything. Zayn looks down at his own wellies, then Liam’s, then Sonia’s. His, unsurprisingly, are the cleanest and have suffered the least wear and tear. It had been Liam’s idea to wear them; a good one it turned out, because the festival was sprawled across a field at the edge of town, just miles and miles of open, untamed, flat land. The rain from two nights ago still hadn’t dried up so everything was squishy with mud.

“Right, we’re glad you’re here but you have really got to put in an effort to stop swearing,” Zayn tells Sonia.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she says, rolling her eyes jokingly. At least he thinks she rolls her eyes. Her sunglasses are so dark that he can’t see her eyes. She bites into a churro. “I can’t help it though! I’m not used to kids,” she shrugs.

“You’ve known Alfie and Ru since they were babies.”

“Well yeah, but,” she says, fried dough flakes flying from her mouth, “they’re like—like—little adults now, or whatever! They’ll repeat me if I’m not careful.”

Liam laughs. “Exactly! So be careful, jackass.”

Sonia’s mouth falls open in surprise and she points from Liam to the kids and back again. “Oi!”

Liam just smirks and looks away, probably scouting more prize booths he can toss money at. Zayn snags a churro from the bag wedged in Sonia’s elbow. But she makes a noise of protest and takes it back from him, wordlessly holding it up to his mouth with raised eyebrows.

Without warning, Zayn suddenly feels so full with emotion, with love. “Jesus, it is so good to have you he—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sonia says, shoving the churro in his mouth as soon as he opens it. She smiles and looks away, rubbing the sugar off on Zayn’s denim jacket sleeve. “I love you too.”

Zayn chews and bumps shoulders with her. She’s been here for 3 days now and as each day passes he simultaneously never wants her to leave and wonders how he’d gotten on so long without her. She’s still in London, living only a few blocks away from her old uni flat. When they Skype, she’ll still pick up her laptop and take him to the window to show him the view. She’ll point to her old building, the crumbling old rooftop where they used to sit and look at the city and discuss Grand Things.

Even once Zayn and Liam had the kids, Sonia was always over at their place, and they were always over at hers. But now that they’re miles apart, Zayn rarely gets to see her in person. This is the second time she’s made it out to visit, the first being when she came down to help them move in. Liam didn’t have a car and Zayn’s Peugeot could only hold but so many things, so Sonia had graciously agreed to pack her equally tiny car and make the trek down.

This time, at least, they’ve had the pleasure of already being settled in the house with all of their free time open for exploring and showing her around the village. Which was great for the kid.  When they heard that Auntie Sunny was coming and they would get the very Grown Up job of showing her around, they’d written up an itinerary a mile long with a month’s worth of activities.

“Dad, Daddy, Dad!” Ruby shouts, pointing to one of the rides. “Can we go on?”

Zayn looks warily at the contraption. He’s not sure what it’s supposed to be exactly, but it looks rickety and the man operating it looks like he could keel over in a stiff breeze. Zayn stifles the architectural side of his brain, telling him to examine the supports and beams for the utmost safety, and reminds himself that this is a town carnival. Nothing is supposed to look safe.

It’s a line of boxcars connected together and running on a track that lights up. There’s people on it now and they look alright, happy enough, and it’s not going too fast.

“What do you think?” Zayn asks Liam, looking particularly hard at a boy about Alfie’s size who looks less than pleased to be moving up, and down, and up, and down.

“Pleeeeeease!” It’s a new thing the twins are trying, mainly because they know it can get them what they want. Whining. But in a cute way, Zayn assures himself, sharing a look with Liam.

“Looks good to me,” Liam says. He takes Ruby’s hand. “Now you just wait with me and we’ll sit together.” Ruby bounces in place as she watches the ride slow down, the breeze catching her loose hair.

Sonia puts her hand on Alfie’s head and ruffles his hair. “What do you say, love? You, me, and your dad?”

Alfie’s eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! We’re gonna win!”

“Win?” Zayn asks. “Well in that case!” and he points to his own eyes, then to Liam’s and Ruby’s.  “You are _so_ on.”

Liam blows a raspberry and Ruby copies him. “Challenge: accepted,” Liam says smugly. “Whoever screams first has to buy ice cream for everyone.”

Both sets of little brown eyes grow comically wide. Bravely, Alfie speaks up for him and his sister. “I can’t buy stuff.”

Zayn pulls a shocked face. “I guess you’d better not scream, then!”

The ride comes to a complete stop and the old man walks around unlocking everyone’s doors, back hunched as he personally wishes all the riders a nice day. “All aboard,” the he croaks out, beckoning for all newcomers to step forward.

Liam and Ruby take off immediately, sprinting around the platform to pick the best seat. Zayn and Sonia each take one of Alfie’s hands between them and swing him down the platform, letting him laugh and point to the boxcar he wants. Once they get settled and Zayn has made Alfie promise, repeatedly, not to try to stand up or do anything else out of line, the old man comes by to double check their seatbelts. His nametag says Arthur so Zayn says “Thank you, Arthur,” when his slightly shaky hands tug surprisingly hard at the seat belt around his waist. Arthur looks surprised but beams a smile at him.

Somewhere from behind them, Liam and Ruby yell together, “Good luck, losers!” and it echos off every makeshift wall keeping the track enclosed.

Zayn, Alfie, and Sonia all crane their heads around to look at them in bewilderment.

“Can you believe that?!” Sonia asks Alfie, looking down at him. But Alfie doesn’t look bothered.

“I never scream,” he says, and his voice is almost scarily deadpan as he stares forward and grips his tiny hands around the safety bar.

Zayn and Sonia lock eyes over his head and stifle their laughs.

The gates click shut, the lights start running, and Arthur hits the button that gets the cars moving.

“Oooh, here we go!” Zayn says, making a show of scooting closer to Alfie. Alfie looks at him and grins, all teeth, and kicks his feet excitedly.

The ride has only just picked up enough speed for the wind to disturb Zayn’s hair when, shrilly, and far too dramatically, Liam screams.

Zayn and Sonia cackle and double over laughing. Alfie shouts, “Yay we won!” while Ruby can be heard whining, “Daaaddyyy,” while Liam apologizes profusely in between letting out little yelps, each time the cars bump up and down a hill. The last thing Zayn can hear before the ride does pick up and it’s only wind in his ears and Alfie’s unabashed delight beside him, is Liam telling Ruby she’ll get to pick her ice cream first.

It’s another hour of rides before the kids are exhausted enough to take a break. They make their way to the back edge of the fairgrounds where there are a few makeshift picnic tables. It’s early in the afternoon and the sun is beaming down strong, making Zayn regret wearing a flannel under his jean jacket instead of a loose t-shirt. He did come prepared with lunch, though, and pulls out everyone’s lunch from his backpack, ignoring Liam’s protests that the best thing about carnivals is eating all the food.

“But you can’t get this kind of nutrition from a chili dog and fries,” Zayn replies righteously, sitting and unwrapping his sandwich.

Liam shakes his head and mouths “Fuck off” so the kids won’t hear, but there’s a glob of mustard on the side of his mouth so he doesn’t come off as menacing as he wants.

Sonia frowns down at her sandwich, the pristine cut of the corners apparently not appealing.

“What’s up with you?” Zayn asks, eyeing her sullen expression.

She lifts a corner of the bread to peer down at the turkey and lettuce inside. Then she looks back to Zayn and pouts. “But a chili dog and fries sounds bloody fantastic.”

“ _Bloody_ fantastic!” Alfie repeats, mocking her voice as best he can, and Liam quickly shushes him and tells him politely that that’s a grown up word and to please not say it again. For at least a few years.

“You can do it, Auntie Sunny,” Ruby says encouragingly. “Dad makes good sandwiches.”

“Does he?” Sonia asks, propping her elbows on the table and looking down at Ruby skeptically.

Ruby nods her head vigorously, hair flying around her face. “Yeah and at school everyone says so.”

Zayn starts. “Ruby! Do you not eat your sandwiches at school?”

Liam covers his mouth and stares at Zayn sympathetically but Sonia doesn’t hide her laughter at all.

“Sometimes,” Ruby says, chewing slowly like she has to think about it. “But only ham, I don’t like ham.”

“Oh love, why didn’t you tell me?”

Ruby shrugs and smiles at Zayn. “It’s ok! Georgia loves ham and she has really good stuff. Chocolate and never any bad stuff.” She makes a blissful face, like she’s thinking of those precious lunch swapping days.

Zayn glares at Liam and Sonia and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Right then, no more ham for Ruby.”

“No please,” she says, then she shows all her teeth in a smile, like she doesn’t even care that there’s spinach stuck there.

“Ok,” Alfie chimes in, as though to announce the end of the conversation and the lunch, mouth full of crisps. “Can we play games now?”

Liam practically jumps out of his seat. “I thought you’d _never_ ask!” He gathers up all the trash and gets the kids back in their coats in record time. “See yous later, we’re off to win all the prizes!” He throws over his shoulder to Zayn and Sonia, pointedly ignoring the expressions of charmed disbelief on their faces.

“Yeah alright,” Zayn calls after them. “You’d better win me something big!”

Liam winks and grabs the kids’ hands, pulling them along at what is surely too fast a pace for their little legs.

As soon as they get lost back in the crowd, Zayn drops his sandwich. “Praise Allah, I thought they’d never leave,” he exclaims, and he snatches Sonia’s hand and pulls her off the bench, making a beeline for the DOGS | BURGERS | FUNNEL CAKES food truck he’s been eyeing since they sat down.

Sonia stumbles along behind him until she realizes where they’re headed. She throws her head back and laughs. “You cheeky bastard! I knew it!”

Zayn laughs with her. “I’ve been craving this for _weeks_ Christ, ever since I heard this was happening. No way I was leaving here without a stomach full of processed meat and grease.”

Sonia’s still laughing and when they get to the back of the line she wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I knew you couldn’t have been serious about those sandwiches,” she says, pinching his side. “Nutrition my balls.”

He looks down at her and kisses her forehead. “It’s for the kids, innit? They’ve got to grow up big and strong.”

“Just like their fathers, eh?” Sonia says, smiling up at him.

By the time they get to the front of the line it’s all Zayn can do to not physically throw the cash at the man behind the counter. Hot dogs and sausages are turning over and over, plump and glistening with grease, in the display case.

“I’ll be honest I kind of have a stiffy,” Zayn whispers to Sonia, his eyes never leaving the care with which the vendor plucks a turkey dog and places it between a bun, may Allah truly bless him.

Sonia licks her lips. “Bro. Me too.”

The vendor dumps chili and onions generously on, sitting all of it on a bed of fries, and doesn’t blink an eye when both Zayn and Sonia scratch his hand in their haste to grab for them.

“Sorry! Sorry!” They say, but he’s laughing and waving it off, telling them to enjoy. Zayn drops a few extra pounds into his tip jar anyway.

With haste, they make their way back to the picnic table. Zayn doesn’t think Sonia’s even breathing before she takes a huge bite of her sausage and moans.

“Really?” He asks in delight, watching her face go slack.

When he brings the smothered turkey dog to his lips, the smell alone makes him tear up a little and if he thought he had an erection before, he was wrong; his dick honest to God jumps in his pants.

“Sweet merciful heavens,” he says, closing his eyes and chewing. “I can’t—this is—-I could—”

Sonia’s waving her hand and humming, like she gets it. They must look ridiculous, having a religious experience over food. But this is one of the greatest parts about being best friends with Sonia; she’s always pulled out the best parts of him and he’s missed these little quirks, these little connections, that he doesn’t quite have with anyone else.

“No, I know. Holy shit.” There’s chili on her thumb that she sucks off and she nearly growls when she pops a fry in her mouth. “Oh god, Zayn. Eat a fry.”

Zayn grabs two at once and shoves them in his mouth. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” he attempts to say.

Sonia snorts. “Including your husband’s dick or…”

Zayn tilts his head thoughtfully. “Mmm, that’s a tough one.”

“That good, huh?”

“Always,” he winks.

Sonia giggles and crosses her legs, hiking her skirt up so the sun can hit her legs. “So Zaynie is a dad now,” she says, sounding impressed.

“I am a dad now,” Zayn confirms. “Is it kind of crazy?”

Sonia laughs and shakes her head. “It really, really is. I can see you now, brooding little dummy in his leather jackets and scuffed boots, 22 and thinking he knows everything.”

“Excuse me,” Zayn protests, “but half of those jackets were yours and you love those boots.”

“I do love those fucking boots. Do you still have them?”

“Don’t even think about it,” he deadpans.

Sonia smiles down into her fries. Her lipstick has started to smudge and there’s a light purple print on her chin.

“Do you miss it?” He asks, wiping his hands on a napkin.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Uni. Being a kid. Feeling like we were on the cusp of something great.”

“Mmm,” she hums, cupping her face in her hand and looking off to the excitement of the fair still going strong. “Sometimes. Definitely not the work, and definitely not the people, but yeah...I do.” All her fries are gone so she leans forward and snags one of Zayn’s.

“I miss the smell of paint in the morning,” she says thoughtfully. “I miss my walk every night past that alley, with all the cats you know? There was always a ginger one sitting there waiting for me, like she was saying hello. Telling me to be safe.” She laughs and pulls her braids together, bringing them over one side of her neck and pulling at the ends distractedly. “I miss my apartment. I miss _your_ apartment.” Abruptly, she gasps. “Remember Mrs. Dawson?”

Zayn curls his lip and swallows the last of his turkey dog. “Yeah, Depth and Perception how could I forget?”

“God, the bum on her. I almost failed that class on purpose just so I could take it again.”

Zayn laughs and throws his napkin at her. “You horny bitch!”

“Takes one…” she trails off, leaning away just in time when Zayn reaches over to smack her shoulder.

“Miss you the most though,” she murmurs, taking off her sunglasses.

They lock eyes and Zayn is reminded, suddenly, of the many complexities of love, of the undisputed truth that he’s only felt this kind of love with two people his whole life and he’s still in love with them and he’s always going to be in love with them.

Instead of answering, he picks up her hand, stained as it is with chili sauce and grease, and kisses the back of her knuckles. She pouts at him and smiles and when he brings her hand down she keeps them clasped together.

There’s a bee buzzing excitedly around her trash. She pushes it closer so the bee can get at it. “Is it hard, being a dad?”

Zayn hums a yes and runs his thumb over her bright glittered nails. “The hardest thing I’ve ever done, probably.”

“You’re brilliant at it though. I never expected you’d be so brilliant,” she says, her mouth quirked up.

“Really?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. Well in uni your head was so far up your own ass that—”

“Hey! Pot, kettle?”

She waves him off. “You just...you’re you but like, you’re better. This is the best version of you.”

It’s nice to hear that, from someone he trusts. “It _feels_ like the best version of me. Two little humans that need me but lots of the time it feels like I need them more.”

“Yeah, that’s—yeah,” she says, grinning. “And don’t forget your big human. He needs you, too.”

Thinking of Liam, his big human, Zayn feels his expression go soft. “Yeah. Him too.”

“But things are like, solid?”

“Yeah,” he declares, nodding. “They really are. There’s bumps of course.” He thinks of everything that still needs work in the house and their petty fights, what happens when they let the annoyances build for too long. “Liam never picks up his shit, for one.”

“ _You_ never pick up your shit.”

“Well yeah but like...that’s my shit.”

“Oh my god, you dick.”

“That’s different, it is!” He exclaims. He bites his lip. “We fight, sometimes, but it’s never about us. It’s always about something else, but I don’t know.” His fries are cold now but the salt tastes good on his tongue as he finishes them off. “I think… we still think that if we don’t talk about whatever’s bothering us, it’ll just go away.”

“Mmm,” Sonia says tentatively, putting her sunglasses back on now that the sun’s changed direction and crossing her arms. “You should’ve learned that lesson in uni, yeah?”

And the only reason Sonia can get away with prodding him like this, with actively making him discuss his feelings and his faults, is because she’s Sonia. Her shit-eating grin implies that she knows this.

Zayn knows what she’s talking about, and thinking about it again makes his whole body flush in embarrassment. He and Liam had been dating for a few months and Zayn was just starting to get to a point where “love” felt like something tangible, something real. When he wasn’t with Sonia, he was with Liam, and when he wasn’t with either of them he wasn’t with anybody. It had felt like his life had been pinpointed down to three ends, the Sonia end, the Liam end, and his own end, the space he cradled out for himself that was so necessary for his own sanity.

He was at an event, some function or other meant for the architecture students to mingle with each other and the faculty but which always ended up being an excuse for everyone to jack off to their own ideas and upcoming projects and honestly, they only allowed two free wine glasses and for Zayn that was two too few, so he’d knocked his back and was getting ready to slip out when he was stopped by Todd Pickens. Todd was in his last year of the program and never let anybody forget it. He always smelled like pretension and bullshit and he had a way of looking at you like he’d step on your face if it meant it put him one step closer to the top.

Personally, Zayn had no problems with him but that didn’t mean he didn’t avoid him at all costs. So when Todd stopped him, with a hand to his elbow, and had started asking him about how his year was going, he was more than a little shocked. Haltingly, Zayn had shared some of his less personal projects and they’d gossiped about good professors and grading scales until it became clear that Todd hadn’t stopped him for pleasantries.

Zayn was a second away from flat out asking Todd what the fuck this was about, but then Todd had blurt out, “You’re dating Liam, right? Liam Payne?”

Taken aback, Zayn had hesitated. “Um. Yeah, why?” It wasn’t exactly a secret, but they also didn’t necessarily broadcast it to the campus. Especially not to the likes of Todd bloody Pickens.

Todd had just leaned back against the wall, dangerously close to a stunning self-portrait another student in their year had done, and shifted his gaze away from Zayn’s eyes. “Oh, nothing. Just heard is all.”

Expressionless, Zayn had asked, “Heard what?”

“Just heard you were together.” Todd sipped from his wine in an asshole way, like the asshole he was.

“Okay…” Zayn had said, his patience growing exceptionally thin. He put his empty wine glass down and made for the door. “Well then--see you.”

Todd raised his voice slightly. “It’s just interesting, you know, because he’s known for like. Not dating.”

Zayn had stopped mid-step and leveled his gaze back at Todd. His stomach had clenched painfully and he had balled his hands into fists in his jacket pockets. “What do you mean?”

Todd had looked a little too overager at being entertained. “I’ve got a friend on his footie team, right, says that everyone’s always after him but it never lasts. It’s always a few weeks, maybe a few months, but apparently he’s a self-proclaimed _single lady_ , as it were,” and, horror of all horrors, Todd had sloshed his wine glass in a piss poor imitation of Beyonce’s single ladies hand wave.

For that alone, Zayn should have punched him in the face. But instead there was too much wine fuzz in his brain and too much of a feeling he didn’t want to dissect yet, but it felt a lot like clarity; like he had known, deep down, that things with Liam had been way too good to be true. He doesn’t even remember what he had said to Todd, if anything, but he had left immediately, the slightly muggy air doing nothing to clear his head.

He’d told Sonia of course, right after, and she’d told him that he was well and truly fucked if he was prepared to take advice from that horrendous man child. She highly doubted he even knew what footie was, let alone had a friend on the team. Zayn had chewed his thumb and he’d hung up the phone ultimately agreeing with her, that he and Liam were solid and who the fuck was Todd bloody _fucking_ Pickens to get in the way of his happiness anyway, but still.

As these things tended to go, this thing went south; very quickly. Liam couldn't call him a pet name without Zayn smiling wanly, wondering if it would be the last time he’d hear it. They weren't big on holding hands but when they did, walking aimlessly on Sunday afternoons down High Street, all it would take would be a lingering glance, a whispered word amongst strangers, for Zayn to feel like everyone knew, that Liam just wasn't the settling down type and that this wouldn’t last.

Zayn had let it go on far too long before he said anything. The problem was that the act of _saying things_ , especially of this caliber, was not one of his strengths.

Flat out, before he lost his courage, in the library one day with their books and notes scattered between them, Zayn had looked up at Liam and said, “You know I love you, right?”

Liam had been typing but the second Zayn spoke he stopped moving. He didn’t even move his eyes from the laptop screen. Slowly, a color grew on his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. But he still wasn't talking so Zayn kicked him under the table.

Liam had blinked and looked up. “You do?” he had whispered, voice delicate.

Zayn had stared at him, wondering why the fuck he’d been so scared when everything about Liam felt so right. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do,” he’d said back.

Liam looked panicked then, and Zayn had no idea what he was doing until he walked around the table and dropped all his weight into Zayn's lap and kissed the breath out of him. Liam was wearing a dreadfully itchy sweater and when he wrapped his arms around Zayn’s neck and whispered, “I love you, Zayn Malik,” like he meant it, Zayn had turned his face into his arm and let the fabric scratch his cheeks.

“That was a miserable time, wasn’t it?” Zayn asks Sonia now, looking off at the fairground wistfully and bringing his thoughts back to the present. “Weeks of torture for nothing.”

“Yeah tell me about it,” Sonia replies. “You were a prick for no reason. Well—more prick than usual.”

“That’ll be enough from you,” Zayn laughs. He folds his arms on the table and bites his lip. “But yeah, we’re still like that sometimes. You remember a few weeks ago, when I told you things were tense around the house? Liam coming home late from jobs and all that?”

She nods. Zayn had called her on his lunch break once and vented for the whole break, about how the house was shit and Liam was being a shit and even the kids were being shittier than normal.

“Well we, uh, we worked that out.”

“Oh did you? That’s good! What happened?”

Zayn smirks and cups his chin in his hand. “Sex happened. _Really_ bloody good sex, Jesus, I want to fight more often if that’s how we end up.”

“Shut up,” Sonia says in awe, grinning from ear to ear. “You absolute slag.”

“Through and through,” Zayn laughs, winking. He waves his hand dismissively. “But enough about me. How’re things with you?”

Sonia rolls her eyes and flips her hair. “Relationship things, you mean? Romantic things? God, when do I have the time for it.”

“You need to make time, love. It’s been ages since I’ve heard about someone. No one worth mentioning?”

She makes a disgusted sound. “Not really, no. I mean, you know how London is. Everyone’s either up to their necks with work and doesn’t give you the time of day or they’re all—I dunno, stuffy. Annoying. Boring.”

“We all can’t shine like you, you know.”

“ _I know_ ,” she says, dragging it out. “We can’t all be black and fabulous, either. And isn’t that ridiculous! But nah, I’m alright! I’ve got Charlie and the odd night out here and there with the girls." Charlie is her poodle and he’s just as pompous as she is. Zayn misses him dearly. Sonia shrugs. "I can still pull, I’ll have you know.”

“Never doubted that,” he agrees, smirking. “No uni students though, right?”

“Christ no, and that was _one time_ will you let it go!”

A few years ago, Sonia had sent Zayn frantic texts at four in the morning about how she’d just had amazing sex with a real dreamboat only to find out he was 21 and couldn’t stay overnight because he had “an exam to prep for.” She was still just a shade too pissed but her texts were coherent enough to get that message across. Zayn had woken Liam up with his laughing and in the morning when he called her she had made him swear to never bring it up again.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I’m fine. Really good, actually. I’m not really looking for anything, you know?”

“For sure,” Zayn agrees.

The next breeze makes them both shiver. The sun has been valiant all day but is finally starting to dip lower in the sky. Zayn checks his watch and it’s been a solid hour since Liam and the kids ran off.

“I suppose we should go find them,” he sighs, standing up and gathering their empty food cartons. “There’s no telling how much money Liam’s spent. He might’ve dipped into our savings by now.”

They walk back into the thick of the fairgrounds and, just as easily as they used to, Sonia slides her arm around his waist and Zayn wraps his arm around her shoulders. She holds him tight to her for a second and he feels her warmth, her love, pouring into him.

“Hurry up, you old fart,” she says, picking up her pace and maneuvering them through the crowd. “You’re going to win me a prize. If I don’t come back with something for Charlie, he won’t speak to me for _days_.”

Zayn laughs and it carries away from them on the breeze. “He has always been a bitch. Just like his mum.”

Sonia steps on his foot and he winces in pain. “And don’t you forget it.”

By the time they waddle up to the games area, Liam and the kids are visible only behind a wall of stuffed animals. Both Alfie and Ruby are holding animals twice their size and Liam is shouldering a tote bag bursting at the seams with bright colored fluff.

Ruby spots them first and she breaks into a sprint, clutching her bright orange dinosaur but not holding it quite high enough. It’s poor tail drags in the dirt.

“Dad, Auntie, look what I—look what—,” she’s out of breath when she brakes in front of them so she just holds the dinosaur up to their faces. It’s got a dopey grin and two of it’s front teeth are missing.

“Well would you look at that,” Zayn says, picking it up and holding it out in front of him. “It looks just like you!”

“I know!” Ruby squeals, and she claps and shows the huge gaps in her mouth where her two front teeth fell out just a few days ago. “She’s Orange.”

“I can see that,” Zayn says, running his hand down the spikes on her spine.

“No, she’s Orange. Her name is Orange!” Ruby swings her tail from side to side as if that proves it.

“Ohhh,” Sonia says. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Orange,” and she curtsies in front of the dinosaur. “Show Auntie what else you’ve won,” she says to Ruby.

Ruby takes her hand and pulls her along immediately, leaving Zayn to hold the newest addition to the family on his hip. He walks over to Liam at the ring toss and kisses his cheek, letting it linger because Liam’s face feels cold.

“Hiya,” he says, waving the dinosaur’s hand. “Did you win this or was this all baby girl?”

Liam grins as he bends down to help Alfie line up his aim for the ring toss. “That was all baby girl, actually. She wouldn’t give up until it was hers.” Alfie launches his arm and the ring goes flying sideways, landing far off center but snagging a bottle nonetheless.

“Yay!” Zayn and Liam shout together, Zayn clapping Orange’s hands together madly. There was a blank look on Alfie’s face when he noticed the ring didn’t go where he wanted it to, but as soon as he sees how excited they are, he beams happily.

“I did it!” He yells, jumping in his wellies.

“You sure did, love,” Liam says, handing him a few more rings. “See? Practice makes perfect.”

Liam leans back so he’s level with Zayn again. “He was a little down earlier,” he says, hushed. “You know Ruby, she likes to brag.” She and Sonia are stooped over the tote bag now, Ruby pulling out each animal and describing it in full detail to Sonia who looks appropriately fascinated by all of the animals and their backstories. “She won all of that in 20 minutes,” Liam says, following Zayn’s gaze. “Alfie was a little put out when it didn’t happen for him.”

Zayn makes a sad face and looks down at Alfie, getting closer and closer to the center bottle with each ring toss. “I wish they wouldn’t compete so much.”

“I know,” Liam says, shuffling his feet and stepping closer to Zayn so their shoulders touch. “But better with each other than with other kids, right? I mean that’ll happen eventually.”

Zayn hums in agreement. “What did you tell him?”

Liam shrugs and slips his hands into the pockets of his denims. “Just to go at his own pace. Everything in due time. Having fun is what’s most important. Etc. etc.”

“And what did you tell Ru?”

Liam looks up at him and smirks. “That if she kept making her brother feel bad I would take all her new friends away and they couldn’t come live with us anymore.”

Zayn’s mouth drops open in shock. “Liam, you didn’t.”

“Of course I bloody did.”

Laughing, Zayn grabs a fistful of Liam’s sweater and pulls him in for a kiss. The dinosaur ends up being squished between them. There’s a wolf whistle, and when they pull apart Sonia is grinning at them. Ruby runs to stand beside Alfie, who’s still tossing rings at the bottles.

“Yay, good job!” She cheers, when Alfie tosses and gets nowhere near the center bottle. His chin wobbles for a second, but then she keeps clapping and jumping and cheering and then he’s jumping, too, happy and eager to keep trying.

“Well done you two,” Sonia says, walking up to them and wedging herself between Zayn and Liam. “You’ve got some real rockstars here,” she adds, nodding down at the twins.

“Eh, we do our best,” Liam says, ruffling Ruby’s hair to let her know that he knows what she’s doing, and he appreciates it.

The crowd at the fair dwindles more and more with the setting sun, the chillier air, but they all stand there for a few minutes more. Liam starts humming the carnival music under his breath. It’s been on a loop since they got to the festival, so it’s probably unconscious. Zayn is about to make a joke about it when Alfie sends a particularly strong throw, biting his lip when he lets the ring go, just like Zayn when he’s concentrating, and it arcs through the air, landing perfectly around the center bottle.

They all erupt, cheering at the top of their lungs, and a few families walking by turn to smile at them. The carny working the booth is just as loud as the rest of them, and when Zayn lifts Alfie on his shoulders and tells him to ask the man nicely for his prize, Alfie goes characteristically shy, ducking his head and pointing to the biggest animal on display. It’s a giant elephant, with a trunk that swings and ears that flap and it’s so big Alfie can’t even wrap his arms fully around it when he goes to hug it.

“What’s his name?” Zayn asks later as they walk towards the exit. Everyone else is up ahead, mouths and hands sticky with the caramel apples in their hands. Alfie had opted out of it for which Zayn is grateful; he’s still sitting on his shoulders so the caramel and nuts would have all dripped down onto Zayn's head. Alfie’s got his prize clutched in one hand, dangling by the trunk, so that every step they take it bumps against Zayn and blocks his vision a little. But Zayn doesn’t mind.

“Dunno,” Alfie says, swinging it a little so it’s ears flap.

“Hmm, how about Elly? Elly the Elephant? Or…—”

“I like Trevor,” Alfie says, only he pronounces it “Twevor” so Zayn has to think a second about what he said.

“Trevor?”

“Yeah,” Alfie says, confidently. “Like the nice man who helped.”

“Helped you what?”

“Win him, Dad! Win Twevor!”

He kicks his feet as much as he can with Zayn holding on tight to them, which isn’t much, but then Zayn realizes that he’s talking about the carny, the man working the ring toss who had let Alfie break the rules and have two extra trys for every time Liam gave him another pound.

“Ohhh,” Zayn says, smiling and nodding his head vigorously. “Trevor is a great name.”

“I know,” Alfie says proudly, and he swings Trevor with fervor so he hits Zayn in the face and he gets a mouth full of synthetic fiber.

They all walk home like that, a caravan of adults, children, and stuffed animals, and they make it home with the dusk just settling around them. After dinner, Alfie and Ruby end up falling asleep on the couch, curled around each other and their new friends.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, it’s all about the kids and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s nice to put being a parent on hold, to slouch and to swear and to scream and, most importantly, to fuck.

Sometimes you just have to approach your husband, bent over as he is, working on tidying up your wild and raggedy garden, and tell him that you love the way his ass looks in those jeans and would he maybe let you have him, here, on an early afternoon in the middle of spring with the sun hot on your face and your hands.

“You what?” Liam asks, bewildered, craning his neck back to see Zayn properly. “You want to do what?”

“You heard me,” Zayn states, and he feels like a teenager again. Something about the weather, he guesses, making him feel giddy and reckless. “I want you. Right here. Right now.”

Liam turns around fully then. It’s warm enough that he can get away with just the tank and jeans he’s got on. He’s not even wearing shoes, his jeans cut slim around his ankles and the tops of his feet fresh with the browns and greens of the earth. He’s been out here going on two hours and there’s already a slight tan to his arms, a sheen of sweat on every part of him.

Zayn had worked from home today and it was a slow day of jobs for Liam so he’d chosen to tackle their garden. It was still frightfully wild and every time the kids played out there Zayn had to hold his breath that they wouldn’t trip over something, or get scraped by something or, worse, get lost in the downright jungle that it was. But Liam had been eager to really make some progress in the garden for weeks, and this was the first dry, sunny day in a while so he’d snatched the opportunity.

Unfortunately for him, and unfortunately for Zayn, Liam had chosen to work at the part of the garden directly outside of Zayn’s office. So whose fault was it, really, that for the last half hour Zayn hadn’t even glanced at his designs but had been too distracted by watching Liam’s back work as he hacked away at the earth, the out of control shrubbery that was blocking an otherwise useable old garden bed.

Zayn was fine, doing just fine, until Liam had decided to start singing and the sound of his falsetto had crept through the glass, breaking into Zayn’s office and his concentration. Liam had stood up and turned towards the sun, throwing off his gloves and wiping the sweat from his brow. Then he’d stretched, his arms high above his head and doing a slight dip to the right side, the left side, so the soft sides of his belly peeked out from under his tank.

The sun had shone off the sweat on his back and Zayn hadn’t been able to take it anymore.

He’d gone to the kitchen and hastily stuck a glass under the tap, bringing it with him as his excuse as he stepped outside, but by then Liam was bent over again and getting inside of him was the only thing on Zayn’s mind.

Now, Liam raises an eyebrow and leans back on his folded legs, licking his lips up at him. “What makes you think I’ll let you have me?”

Zayn takes a long gulp from the glass of water before he sets it down and steps further into the garden, closer to Liam. But with the way Liam looks, Zayn doesn’t think his thirst can ever be quenched anyways.

“Are you saying that you _don’t_ want to fuck me here?” He asks, unbuttoning his shirt slowly but not taking it off. “Out here, in our secluded, private garden,” he unzips his jeans then and his hand bumps against his already fattening cock. “Where nobody can see us and, most importantly,” he walks the few steps closer until he’s right in front of Liam now, casting a shadow over him, a lazy half-smile on his face, “where nobody can hear how you make me scream?”

When Liam moves his hand to his leg it feels like fire. He takes it and slides it up until he can rub at the inside of his thighs. And Christ, it hasn’t even been that long, but Zayn already feels like he could beg for it if he has to.

“Yeah, actually, that is what I’m saying,” Liam says, his voice gone deep and his hand insistent where it’s squeezing Zayn’s thigh. “I’m also saying that maybe I want you to make _me_ scream.”

Something winged and probably poisonous flits across Zayn’s vision but he doesn’t even blink. He stumbles forward on the sound of Liam’s voice alone and he chokes out, “I—we—yeah. That’s...yeah.”

“Okay,” Liam laughs, and, quick, he knocks the back of Zayn’s knee with his fist so he comes tumbling down into his lap. Zayn breaks his fall with his hands on the slippery breadth of Liam’s shoulders and Liam lays down in the grass and pulls him down until he’s fully straddling him. Then it’s nothing but kissing, their hot mouths moving against one another, sensuously lazy and slow, with Liam being pushed further and further into the ground each time Zayn bears down on his lap, carding his fingers through his hair to tilt his face from side to side.

Liam’s tank is damp and Zayn can feel it on his skin but not well enough, so he pulls back to slip his shirt off and throw it to the side. Then Liam thrusts his hips off the ground so Zayn laughs when he bounces, balanced on his lap, but it’s a better angle so Liam can pull his tank over his head and bunch it up behind him to rest his head on. Their jeans come off next, then their pants, then it’s just naked skin gliding on skin, Liam’s big arms wrapped around Zayn and clawing into his back like he wouldn’t let him up even if he wanted to.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Liam says, marveling at how Zayn’s got their cocks lined up perfectly.

“Yeah, you,” Zayn pants, feeling his eyes roll when he pumps his hips forward and his heavy cock slides up Liam’s hard stomach, “you’ve had me going for— a while, couldn’t concentrate in the—the,” he thumbs over his shoulder towards his office and gives up trying to talk, just moving.

Liam digs his nails into Zayn’s bum and pulls his cheeks apart so Zayn moans, feeling even more exposed. “In your office, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, digging his nails into Liam’s chest and pushing his hips down and back, biting his lip. He’s got his knees pressed into the grass the dirt feels rough on his kneecaps every time he slides.

“I know, I could— could feel you, watching me,” Liam breathes out, and then he takes one of his hands, his huge, soil covered hands, and grabs both their cocks and twists his wrist around the heads.

Zayn pants out a laugh. “You bastard. You stretched on purpose.”

“I did, yeah,” Liam says, but he’s not even looking at Zayn, his attention too captured by the way it looks with both of them in his fist and when they coordinate their hips just right, how he can thumb at the slits at the same time. “But I thought, at least, you’d call me inside, maybe push me in the shower, the bed.”

Blissfully, Zayn throws his head back and concentrates on canting his hips. Liam’s knees are bent so he rests back against them, gripping his hands around his strong thighs and loving how it makes Liam whine and twist his wrist faster. “No,” Zayn responds, blinking his eyes open and looking down at Liam, haloed by the sun. “I needed you like this. In your—element, or whatever.”

“Is that right,” Liam asks under hooded eyes. He spreads his legs a bit, so Zayn’s weight falls even further on him, and Zayn digs his knees into the grass to help keep his balance. Liam jacks them a few more times, his fist tight enough to almost hurt, before stops. He’s flushed all the way down to his chest and his nipples are peaked, begging for attention, so Zayn gives them some. Liam’s making whiny noises that twist at Zayn’s gut, and he’s fascinated at how after all these years Liam still makes the same noises when he’s overwhelmed.

And still, it has never failed to turn Zayn way the hell on.

Liam pulls a hand up to Zayn’s hair, in a low ponytail today, and he twists his fingers in the knot until he gets it free and Zayn’s hair falls onto Liam’s chest, like a blanket around him.

Zayn pulls back from where he was teething at a nipple and smirks. “Thanks,” he says.

“Welcome,” Liam bites out as Zayn plays with the other nipple.

The sun is hot on Zayn’s back and he can feel a bead of sweat make it’s way down his spine. Now that his hair’s down it’s hard to keep it out of the way and he feels hotter, the sweat making it stick to his shoulder blades. He’s also got more scruff now, was too lazy this week to shave, so he rubs his cheek over Liam’s now-bruised and sore nipples. If it hurts then Liam doesn’t say anything, only tightens his fingers in Zayn’s scalp and guides him across his chest more fully.

“Zayn, fuck, this is so—I’m so—we’re _outside_  God, I can’t—”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Zayn asks, leaning back so he can assess the damage he’s done. Liam’s chest is heaving and he’s bruised in light reds, bite marks all over his chest, and his eyes are glazed over like he’s never felt better. There’s a ladybug crawling by his head and when Zayn leans down again to kiss him, to snake his tongue into his mouth, he makes sure to press his hand in the grass far away from where the ladybug is crawling so he doesn’t crush it. “You feel good, yeah?”

Liam rolls his hips up and licks Zayn’s mouth as he pulls away. “Yeah, babe. Really good.”

Zayn cups Liam’s chin in his hand so he can hold his mouth in place for when he fucks his tongue in, pulling back periodically just to hear the smack of his lips, to see how swollen Liam’s mouth is. He feels drunk on everything, the way Liam keeps thrusting his hips in halted little movements beneath him, and how the grass smells like rain still, but mostly on how he feels like he could eat Liam alive, could slide right into him and nestle there forever.

Eventually he pulls away and rolls off Liam to the side, pressing his shoulders into the grass where it’s cool on his back. It feels weird, like the ground should feel hard and uncomfortable beneath him, but instead it’s soft, accommodating. Zayn wonders if this is why Liam loves the outdoors so much, because it’s so content just doing it’s own thing and always eager to welcome other people in.

Zayn stretches his arms above his head as Liam watches him, momentarily stunned by how fast Zayn rolled off of him. Zayn rolls his shoulders until the bones crack there and then he brings a hand down to his dick, still slick from his and Liam’s precome, and he pulls on it a few times.

“Come up here, you,” he’s saying, licking his lips. “I want you to sit on my face.”

Liam groans and his dick jerks obscenely where it’s hard against his belly. He sets a knee on either side of Zayn’s torso and they squish in the dirt as he works his way up. He pauses at Zayn’s mouth to take his dick in hand and skate it across Zayn’s lips. Zayn purses his mouth in a kiss and pecks the head.

“Keep going,” Zayn says, smiling and arching his neck back so he can look at Liam fully. “I want you to smother me.”

“F-fuck,” Liam stutters out, and he moves forward until his balls are resting on Zayn’s mouth so he doesn’t have a choice but to tongue one in, slowly, rolling it in his mouth until it’s coated and he can do the next one. Liam’s bent forward with all his weight on his arms and he’s groaning, swearing and making noise like he can’t keep them in.

Quickly, he scoops a hand down to gather up Zayn’s hair where it’s spread out over the grass, bunching it up and out of the way so he doesn’t press his knees on it as he gets in position. He holds himself open with both hands and his voice hardly sounds like his own when he says, “You ready?”

Zayn looks up and all he can see is Liam’s hole, so he wets his thumb in his mouth and presses it to the opening, loving how he can barely fit it in but already Liam is sinking down on it. He doesn’t bother answering, just digs his nails in Liam’s ass and pulls until he’s sitting on his face, well and truly, and Zayn moans when he flicks his tongue out flat to get the first taste of him.

“Oh god oh god oh god,” Liam’s saying, and his fingers are clenched in the grass to keep himself upright. Zayn’s holding his ass open so all he has to do is roll his hips, finding a rhythm that matches Zayn’s insistent tongue.

Zayn can’t think about anything but the taste of Liam in his mouth, earthy and a little bit bitter, and how long it’s been since he’s gotten to do this. He pulls his thumb back up and dips it inside Liam briefly before popping it out. He licks around Liam’s rim, loving how he can hear him pant so desperately. He takes his index finger next, sliding it in up to the second knuckle and he can feel Liam deliberately clench around him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Liam groans, rocking his hips back. “Another, give me another.”

Zayn licks around his finger first, sucking at Liam’s hole, before turning his head so Liam can hear him speak. “You’re too tight, babe.”

Liam hangs his head and shakes it vigorously. “Don’t care, I _really_ bloody fucking don’t care just—just fuck me, please, I can’t—” his voice breaks off then because Zayn decides to stick his middle finger in alongside, and lick around them both. Liam keens deep in the back of his throat and almost loses his balance on his planked arms.

With one last lick, Zayn grips Liam’s thighs and rolls them, so that Liam is back flat to the Earth and Zayn is resting between his legs, with both of his ankles thrown over his shoulder. Liam looks debauched, absolutely filthy, his hair askew and his face slack in pleasure, a shiny spot beside his belly button where his dick has leaked, again and again. 

“Look at you,” Zayn says in awe, sliding two fingers back in him just to see what it does to his face. “I want to break you. Fuck you so slowly you can’t stand it.”

Liam curls his toes around Zayn’s shoulders and pushes his palms into the ground so he can get more leverage to push his hips down. The sun is beaming down on his face and there’s a trickle of sweat at his temple that works it’s way down to his chin. Zayn leans down to kiss the trail it leaves, stopping when he gets to Liam’s mouth so he can breathe there. He scissors the fingers inside him and Liam lets out an “ _oh”_ against his lips for it.

Zayn rarely talks like this but there’s something in him now, something primal ignited by the sight of the dirt on Liam’s arms, the way his body moves in the grass like it was made for him, like he was made for the earth, that makes him feel like he has to. He takes his fingers out and Liam protests immediately but then he takes his cockhead in his hands and lines it up with Liam’s hole, just pressing so he can feel the pressure there.

“Zayn,” Liam says, voice soft, swallowing around his name like he has to catch his breath first. “Please— _please_.”

“Shh, it’s alright sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Zayn says, and it’s rare that they do it like this, with Liam the one desperate to be fucked out of his mind, but when he is he always begs so sweetly for it.

There’s not been nearly enough prep but Liam always likes it a little tight, said once that the burn was one of his favorite parts. But Zayn pushes in slowly and watches Liam’s face all the while, just in case. Distractedly, he notices that somehow they’ve managed to end up in the same spot as before, with the ladybug just off to Liam’s left beside his ear, unharmed. Unless it’s a different ladybug, Zayn decides, but then he has to think a million other pointless facts about ladybugs because if he doesn’t distract himself from from how warm Liam is inside, how he’s pulling him in faster than he should be going, greedy for him, he’s going to come.

Liam’s mouth is open and he’s panting out tiny fast breaths, like it hurts him but he needs it anyway.

“You feel,” Liam starts, breathless, splaying his arms out above his head and arching his back, “ _so_ good.”

“Just good?” Zayn asks through gritted teeth, giving up on ladybugs and watching his cock disappear in Liam’s ass.

Liam huffs out a laugh and throws his head to the side, rolling his hips. “ _Really_ good.”

“ _Really_ good?” Zayn repeats, teasingly. Liam parts his lips to say something but Zayn chooses then to snap his hips forward, to push all the way into Liam, so all that comes out is a sound of surprise.

And then Zayn is really fucking him, slow pulls in and out as deep as he can go, and Liam’s eyes fly open but he doesn’t speak again. Zayn digs his nails into his calves and turns to bite at one, smiling down at him.

“Thought so,” he says, and Liam halfheartedly raises his middle finger before he drops his arm, boneless, back down into the grass.

All of a sudden, the sharp clang of their doorbell cuts through the garden.

Liam’s eyes fly open, comically wide.

Zayn stills completely.

Then the doorbell rings, again, with all the force of a death knell. Liam hisses through his teeth and clenches around Zayn, involuntarily.

Zayn’s mouth falls open on an aborted moan that he can’t keep in but Liam’s hand flies through the air and clamps over it. They’re both staring at each other, eyes wide, neither of them moving or making a sound.

Then, again, the doorbell.

Forcefully, Zayn rips Liam’s hand off his mouth and leans down closer to him. “Who the _fuck_ is that,” he hisses, and as if on cue the voice says, “Hello, Liam? It’s me, Elena.”

If possible, Liam’s eyes get even wider. His legs are still draped over Zayn's shoulders so he's bent nearly in half. 

“Who _is_ that?” Zayn hisses again.

Liam raises his eyes to heaven, like that’ll help him. “I forgot,” he whispers, gulping around his words. “She’s a client, she--she was coming by to—see the garden today.”

Zayn digs his fingers into Liam’s shoulder blades so hard it makes him wince. “ _She what_?” He screeches, as well as he can on a whisper.

As he should, Liam looks terrified. “I—she—we were going to—”

“Liam?” Elena calls again. Her feet crunch on the gravel as she moves away from the door. “Is that you?”

Zayn’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his butt. He stares down at Liam, glassy-eyed, and he suddenly feels so disoriented he can't move. Something is crawling on his thigh. 

“Is she coming around here?” he asks, dazed. 

“Is she— _what_ , how would I know?”

He slides his eyes back into focus so he can glare at Liam. “Does your client have a habit of _nosiness_ , you sonofabitch!”

“How should I know?!” Liam hisses back, his face pinched in anger. 

“ _For fuck’s sake,_ ” Zayn wheezes frantically, and he doesn’t even apologize before he starts sliding out of Liam. His dick makes an obscenely loud squelching sound and it’s all he can do not to laugh, maniacally, cursing the fact that there are no noises whatsoever, not even any birds chirping, and what the hell is that about, to mask the sound of it for Elena nosy-whatsherface.

Crouched low, Zayn gathers up his clothes as quickly as he can, his dick wilting with the speed of the realization that, yeah, this woman is getting closer.

It’s only then that he realizes Liam still sprawled out in the grass, looking like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Zayn picks up Liam's jeans and launches them at him, as hard as he can. “What’re you _doing_ ,” he whispers, trying his best to step into his own jeans without falling over. “Hit the gas!” He feels unstable and he knows he must look it because as soon as Liam blinks his eyes at him he scrambles to his feet, stepping into his jeans too.

Only, Liam’s dick is still proud and at attention so when he tries to zip up his fly around it, he can’t. He has to physically push it down and out of the way, groaning for a second then grimacing.

Zayn’s never wanted to laugh so bad in his life.

“This is _your_ fault,” Liam bites at him, pointing an accusing finger. “Too horny to keep it in your pants.” Liam unravels his shirt from where it was bunched up, shaking the grass off it. “ _Isn’t this great_ , he said. _Outside feels so nice_ , he said,” he says, in a piss poor mocking imitation of Zayn’s own voice.

“Like fuck this is!” Zayn hisses back, refusing to take the blame.

“Liam?” Elena calls again, and her voice is eerily, panic-inducingly close.

Liam’s eyes grow wide and he starts fanning at Zayn, desperately. “Go! Hide!”

Zayn’s only got one leg in his jeans and his shirt is in his hands, inside out. He stares at Liam, bewildered. “ _Where_?”

“I don’t know! Just—” then he uses all his strength to push Zayn, mightily, towards the side of the house. Zayn gets the hint and takes off running, slipping in the grass a few times in his haste, and plasters himself to the side of the house that’s, thankfully, hidden from the front of the garden.

Liam is frantically running his hands through his hair to make it look somewhat sensible before he takes a deep breath and walks over to the garden gate leading out to the driveway.

Like he hasn’t already been punished enough, the sun is currently baking this side of the house so, great. Now Zayn is baking, too. Not only that, but his dick is still extremely confused, first at being so close to orgasm but now having that snatched away, forced to wilt.

“Don’t worry,” Zayn whispers, bending down to talk to it. “I’ll make up for it later. _Liam_ will make up for it later.”

He hears voices now and if he leans forward slightly and peeks around the corner, he can see her. Elena. As soon as he sees her he straightens back up against the wall. Good God. She’s old, wearing a cardigan and a sunhat, and looks so much like the sweetest, most perfect granny ever that Zayn has to send up a prayer to Allah that she didn’t catch them. The thought of her finding him balls deep in the man she was trying to hire to do her landscaping makes him weak in the knees, with gratitude or laughter he doesn’t know.

“So you see,” and that’s Liam talking, his voice just as steady as anything, “we could do you something like this, with a few flower beds, maybe some shrubs along the side? And I know you have the steps leading back from your kitchen, so I was thinking maybe replacing all that with new stones, maybe a nice flagstone? So you’d have a uniform path.”

“Yes, yes, I really like that,” Elena replies brightly, and Zayn can hear that she’s got an accent now, something heavy and Eastern European.

They chat for a few more minutes, blah blah and blah about something Zayn doesn’t know about, and by the time they wind down he’s pretty sure he’s a whole shade of brown darker. He can’t make out what they’re saying because they’ve moved back towards the gate, Liam leading her away, so he thinks it’s safe to lean forward and peer over the corner.

Elena gets to the gate and holds her hand at the top, turning back to look at Liam.“Where’s that husband of yours, by the way?" she asks brightly. "I've yet to meet him!"

Liam clears his throat and holds the gate open for her. “Oh he, um. He’s at work.”

“Oh, is he?” Elena asks, surprised. “Well whoever is that man hanging around the side of your house?”

And honestly, what the fuck, Zayn thinks as he all but melts into the ground. What the actual fuck.

Liam makes a lot of noises that sound like he might be choking, then dying, but Elena’s laugh rings loud above all of them. She waves her hand. “Oh, dear, don’t you worry! I _would_ recommend a taller fence around your garden though. I don’t think it’s as tall all the way around as you think.”

Zayn clenches his eyes shut in the hopes that Allah will have mercy on him and, please, just let him die on the spot.

“Never you mind, dear,” Elena says again, chuckling, as she steps out of the garden and onto the driveway. “I’ll see you at mine within the week, hm? And hello, Mr. Malik!” She calls back, waving as she walks away.

“Hi,” Zayn calls back, and it feels so meek leaving him but he hopes it carries. He’s never felt so foolish in his life.

The second he hears the garden door click shut, he pushes off from the wall and walks around the corner. Liam is already on the ground, laughing so hard he can’t breathe, and when he opens his eyes to see Zayn walking towards him, it only makes him laugh harder.

Zayn truly cannot stand him. “Laugh now, you bastard,” he says, laughing himself and letting Liam pull him down in the grass again. “I hate you so much.”

Liam just looks at him and laughs some more, until they’re both laughing, hysterical and ridiculous and wiping at each other’s tears with their thumbs.

 

 

 


	4. Summer

 

Zayn coughs when he slams his shot glass down. He winces at the way it burns the back of his throat and he remembers, vividly, why it’s been so long since his last tequila shot. He sneaks a look at Liam across the table and his eye is twitching, his mouth pursed sourly down at his empty shot glass in front of him.

“Oh god,” Zayn says, choking through his laughs. “I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

“Weyheyyy!” Niall comes back to the table with a tray full of more shots. “Drink up, lads! And lass,” he adds, winking at Sonia.

“Oh please,” she says, knocking her shot back with barely a blink. “Count me in as one of the lads tonight. I’ll be drinking all of you under the table anyways.”

“ _Very_ doubtful,” Louis says, and he knocks his back, sucking quickly at a lime.

“Oh yeah?” Sonia asks, raising her eyebrow and leaning towards Louis over the table.

Harry perks up. “Ohh no no no,” he says, folding his arms and shaking his head at the two of them. “Louis, don’t even try it.”

Louis snaps his head around to Harry. “Try what, Harold?”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry says, laughing and scrunching up his nose. “Do not make a deal with her. Seriously, she’ll leave you with nothing but the skin on your back if you—ow!”

Harry makes a face and bends, presumably to rub at his shin where Sonia’s kicked him under the table.

“Is that right?” Louis asks, picking up his cocktail and raising it to Sonia. “What do you say, love? Add a bit of spice to the night?”

Sonia smirks and reaches for her purse. “Yeah, I’m up for it,” she says, pulling out a compact and reapplying her lipstick, the purple so dark it’s nearly black. “50 quid says you have to tap out before the night’s over.” She smacks her lips and smiles at Louis, dangerously sweet.

“And 50 quid says _you_ do,” Louis retorts. He reaches across the table so they can shake on it. “Drink?” He asks, standing up and heading to the bar.

“Yeah, ta,” Sonia says after him.

As soon as he leaves, they all burst out laughing.

“Just don’t fucking kill him,” Liam tells Sonia between laughs.

“I don’t know why Louis always thinks he can hold his drink,” Harry says wistfully, twirling the straw in his cocktail.

“Aww,” Niall coos, rubbing Harry’s shoulder and frowning. “Is wittle Harry afraid for wittle Lou?”

Harry plays along and pretends to sob, hiding his face in Niall’s neck. Niall laughs so Harry wriggles out and bites his neck, pushing at his chest. “No, but he always does this! And he’ll inevitably get sick and it’ll be me left to take care of him.” He runs a hand through his hair and it’s prematurely greying now, just a bit, but it’s still as lush as it ever was, adding to his look. “The last time he wouldn’t go to sleep for _hours_ and he made me spoon and listen to how important David Beckham was to him.” Harry frowns when they all cackle but he can’t hide his grin from growing. “It’s not funny! God, it was torture. A half hour at least was just about his bottom.”

“S-stop, stop,” Zayn pleads, clutching at his sides and trying not to fall off his stool.

God, he’s missed this. He feels all of 18 again, well on his way to pissed off cheap liquor. At Niall’s insistence, Zayn and Liam had taken a weekend trip back to London to see everyone. It was far overdue and it was the first time Zayn and Liam had been back in London, properly, since they moved. Niall was in charge of planning the whole weekend and the first thing he’d put on the schedule was a night out at their old favorite pub. Which is where they were now, all huddled in the same corner they used to occupy when they were in uni. It’s odd being back, because they’re older, but it’s still the same grimy walls, still the same stock behind the bar, still the same tacky chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, giving the place a weird vibe of trash and class.

It even still smells the same, Zayn thinks, the sharp odor of booze and fried food mixed with the unmistakable air of that uni student staple: avoiding coursework.

The clientele are still pretty young, which is why Zayn supposes the pub has changed a bit to keep up with the times. There’s a DJ now, and a dancefloor, mostly just empty space where tables used to be. It’s still fairly early on in the night so the DJ hasn’t started yet but the pub is packed to the brim, with students rushing the bar, groups of lads sat around awkwardly trying to decide whether to make a move on groups of girls, sat around and not paying them any mind.

When Louis comes back with a drink for himself and Sonia, Zayn reaches over and pulls his stool over so they’re closer together.

“Hey watch it!” Louis protests, almost wobbling off the stool when Zayn pulls a little too hard and it slips on a puddle of something on the floor.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” Zayn whispers, giggling, wrapping his arm around Louis so he’s forced to curl into him. He pulls back and takes a big sip of his beer. “How are you, mate? Really?” he asks, eyeing Louis’ expression carefully.

When Zayn had first started dating Liam, he and Louis had clicked instantly. The first time Zayn had come to Liam’s flat, a little nervous and a little late, it had been Louis who opened the door. He was in loose sweats and an oversized sweater, rolled into knots at his wrists, and, blunt as anything, he’d said, “Well fuck me. Liam didn’t say you were gonna be a stunner.” Before Zayn had the chance to stutter out his thanks, Louis had beckoned him in, asked “Tea?” and hadn’t waited for an answer before putting the kettle on and curling up in a kitchen chair and talking. About everything. It was clear he loved the sound of his own voice, but it wasn’t until the mug had gone cold in Zayn’s hands and he hardly had his voice anymore from laughing that he realized what Louis was doing. Louis was talking so he didn’t have to. He was taking the pressure off him.

By the time Liam had gotten back from an unexpectedly late football practice, he’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d found Zayn chilled out with Louis on the couch and playing FIFA, and they’d all had pizza. It was sick.

Louis was a darting light, everywhere at once and full of chaos and energy; but he was also wickedly protective, lazy as fuck all, and a big advocate for heart over head. Zayn really liked him. Zayn _loved_ him. Quickly, it got to the point where he could go to Liam’s on a whim and even if Liam wasn’t there Louis was more than enough company.

It’s a matter of the heart, actually, that’s worrying Zayn now.

“I’m…,” Louis starts, circling his finger around the rim of his glass. Everyone else is carrying on in side conversation, for which Zayn is glad, because it’ll be easier to get Louis to tell the truth like this. The whole truth, not shrouded in jokes. “I’m alright,” he finally sighs out, and he adds a wan smile to it.

“Oh, babe,” Zayn says, rubbing his shoulder. He hopes it doesn’t come off sounding like pity. “Still haven’t heard from her?”

“No I’ve heard from her,” Louis says darkly, pulling out his phone from his back pocket and dropping it in front of Zayn. “Check her texts.”

Zayn picks up the phone and scrolls down to “El.” He opens the chat history and there’s pages and pages from Louis, asking why and how and when, if they had to do this over the phone, if she could just come over. It breaks his heart.

He glances over to Louis’ face but Louis’ leaning back across the table, gesturing madly and laughing with everyone else so Zayn keeps reading. There’s more from Louis and it spans a few days and then, from Eleanor, is a blip of a paragraph that asks him to move on, respect her decision, and respect the love they once shared.

Zayn doesn’t know all the details because Louis hasn’t told him yet, but the gist is that Eleanor broke up with him. Louis hadn’t met her until well after uni so she wasn’t a huge part of their friend group, but everyone had loved her. And they’d especially loved the way she was with Louis, centering him, being almost the perfect complement to him. They’d dated for a few years until a few months ago when something had happened and it had fallen apart. It was completely out of the blue for everyone, but especially Louis, who had tried for so long to get closure but couldn’t. Until this text, Zayn supposes, reading her words over again and sighing.

Zayn taps Louis with the phone and Louis plucks it from his hands without looking, puts it back in his pocket. He doesn’t turn his head though, keeps shouting at Niall about something, but when he pauses for the inevitable laugh for his story, he tilts his head back to drink and he winks to Zayn. Zayn chuckles to himself and swallows from his own beer; Louis will talk when he wants to talk, but now he wants to drink.

The DJ’s finally arrived, setting up on the makeshift dance floor at the side of the bar.

Niall turns to Liam with his eyebrows raised. “No Big Payno tonight, then?”

Liam strokes his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Nah mate, not since— it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How long’s it been, babe?”

“Ehh, about a year I think?" Zayn responds. "For that one birthday party, remember?”

“A birthday party?” Niall asks, nose scrunched up. “For kiddies?”

Liam laughs and runs his fingers up the condensation on his glass. “Yeah. A friend of Alfie and Ru; Hannah I think her name was? Her dad insisted on a DJ at her 3rd birthday; can you imagine?”

Harry snorts into his drink. “But you though? Why?”

“Yeah what’d you do, break out the Jay and Bey?” Niall asks. Harry laughs the loudest because it’s Niall, so of course he does.

“Ha!” Louis barks, clapping the table. “A little deep house?”

“What?” Liam says, aghast, “No! A heavy rotation of pure Disney-inspired hits, thank you very much.”

“Although,” Zayn speaks up, leaning further into the group. “I will say he _did_ attempt a remix of “Under The Sea” that had everyone going wild.”

Immediately, Niall throws his hands up and puts on his best Jamaican accent which is; surprisingly, very good. “The seaweed is always greener, in somebody else’s lake!”

“You dream about going up there, but that is a big mistake!” Harry chimes in, with a hideously piss poor imitation. As soon as the words are out of his mouth everyone gets silent, so it’s just him moving his hands like waves and looking bug-eyed at all their blank faces. “What?” He pouts, dropping his hands.

Everyone roars laughing and Niall covers his face with his hands.

“Oh god, remind me _why_ we’re together again,” he wails, peeking through his fingers. “I love you but darlin’: that was shiite.”

Harry’s mouth drops open in surprise. Niall quickly cups his face with his hands and tries not to laugh but he fails. “That was so,” he leans forward, pecking a kiss to Harry’s cheek, “so,” he continues, moving to the other, “shit.” He ends with a loud smack to Harry’s lips and when Harry tries to follow his mouth back, nearly pushing them both off the stools, Niall has to wrap his arms around his neck just so he doesn’t fall over.

“Oh my god,” Sonia yells, covering her eyes, “reign it in already!”

“Don’t listen to her, boys, she’s just bitter,” Zayn says, smiling at her over the rim of his glass.

“True,” Sonia agrees, pursing her lips and raising her glass in salute.

Niall puts his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “How are things out in your neck of the woods, then? How’re the kids?”

“They’re good,” Liam says, just as Zayn says “They’re great,” both eager to speak on their big change. They both laugh but Zayn gestures for Liam to continue.

“Yeah, they’re really good,” Liam goes on, a soft smile on his face. “The house is really coming together. We’ve been trying to wait to invite people since, like, it is an old place. And it needed a lot of work but it’s good now!”

“Tip top shape!” Zayn exclaims. That is _definitely_ the tequila talking.

“Yeah,” Liam laughs at him, agreeing. “But the kids have been amazing, real troopers.”

“Well they’ve got good examples, don’t they?” Louis asks, tipping his glass to Liam then to Zayn.

“Awww,” everyone coos.

“So when’s the housewarming, then?” Harry asks.

“I dunno actually,” Liam says, looking to Zayn. “We haven’t really hammered out the date. We’ll be at Trisha’s and Yaser’s for Eid in July, I know, so maybe August? September?”

“Jealous,” Niall says emphatically, playing with the ends of Harry’s hair distractedly. “Is your mum cooking, Zayn? Remind her she’s got my address for any leftovers, mind.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn laughs. “Like that’ll be a problem. Have you seen this one around a table full of sweets?” He points to Liam, who only grins at him. “Between him and Ru, there might not be enough for the rest of us.”

“Well make room for me,” Sonia butts in. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen your mum, Zayn. And your _dad_ …” She trails off, raising an eyebrow and sipping pointedly from her drink.

“Weeeyheeey!” Everyone shouts, but Zayn. They’re loud enough that the people at the table behind them shout it back, all raising their pints, cheering blindly in the name of good fun. That only gets Louis, Harry, Liam, and Sonia to shout even louder.

“Oh, sick,” Zayn says, curling his lip and refusing to join in the revelry. “I thought you’d gotten past this.”

“ _Past_ Yaser? Oh no no no,” Louis chimes in, shaking his head vigorously. “One does not simply _get over_ Yaser Malik.”

Zayn turns astonished eyes to Louis. “You too?!”

“Yes, me too,” Louis says simply. “Imagining him got me through a tight spot every now and then, I’m not ashamed to say. Remember when he came to uni, on parent’s day that one time? God the second he came ‘round the corner in that _tight_ shirt, I nearly—”

“That’s enough!” Zayn leaps to his feet and nearly knocks his stool over. Nobody pays him any mind, of course, because Louis is talking and they’re all enraptured. The last thing he hears before he walks away is “wet” and “like I couldn’t walk” so he, quickly, makes his way as far away as possible.

The dancefloor is just starting to fill up, most people just standing on the outskirts with a few brave souls dancing in the middle. Zayn can’t remember the last time he was out like this, but the flickering of the lights and the way they shine off everyone’s faces makes him want to do this more. Want to do it again. Truth be told, he was a little worried that this part of him didn’t really exist anymore, had somehow been crushed and forgotten under parenthood and adulthood and responsibility. But he pushes through the crowd, as strategically as he can, and he feels it humming around in him, somewhere in his ribcage, that feeling like all hope isn’t lost.

He gets to the bathroom and stands still to piss, feeling a little more unsteady than usual. He washes his hands and checks his reflection in the mirror and widens his eyes, just to see how he looks. That’s...yeah, he might be more than a little drunk.

The sound of thrumming bass is almost deafening by the time he gets back to the table, but it’s a good sound. It almost makes him feel overwhelmed, like he doesn’t have a choice but to end up on the dancefloor later which; he knows they will, because they always do.

Liam’s sitting on the stool Zayn was on before and Louis’ moved over to Sonia’s spot.

“Where’s Sonia?” He asks, plopping down beside Liam. Liam immediately leans on him, burrowing his face in his neck and inhaling. He pretends to bat him away but he loves when Liam gets like this, handsy and sweet, and it’s not really any different than sober Liam but it’s more adorable and it makes Zayn feel special.

“Fucked off to the bar,” Louis says, tilting his head in that direction.

“Looks like she might be a while, actually,” Liam says, craning his neck to see her. They all turn to look and it’s obvious what she’s doing, chatting up the bartender. He’s at least marginally interested, clear in the tilt to his head, the ease with which he’s smiling, and there’s no telling what Sonia’s saying but there’s already about twice the amount of drinks they need on the tray in front of her.

“She’s such a slag, I swear,” Zayn says, chuckling and looking away. There’s a drink in front of him, not his, but it’s shamefully unfinished and really that’s just such...it’s a shame, is what it is.

“Hey,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes. “I wasn’t finished with that!”

Then there’s a tray full of drinks in front of them, an array of shots and mixers, and Harry’s hand is the first one darting out to claim one.

“And I only had to pay for half of them, boys,” Sonia says, shimmying so her tits bounce in her top. “ _That_ , I’ll have you know. Is how you do it.” She’s taken her braids out so it’s just her afro tonight, beautifully huge and imposing. Zayn really hopes no one tries to touch it, like they used to do back in uni, because he really does not want to have to explain to a police officer, or a doctor, why his friend had to knock someone the fuck out.

Louis picks up a shot and holds it to his mouth. “God bless you,” he says to her, ready to knock it back.

“Wait, wait,” Harry says, reaching over to hit Louis’ shoulder so he upsets the glass. “We’ve got to do it, like, together. We’ve got to cheer for something.”

“Here we go,” Niall says under his breath.

“Shut up, Niall,” Harry says as he stands to his feet. He picks a shot glass then gestures for everyone else to do the same. He clears his throat. “I, umm...would like to cheers to. Well, friendship. And like...all of you being here and being, my good—no, my _very_ good friends. Since uni, it’s been like—”

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Louis says, then yelps when he’s smacked from all directions by various hands.

“Quiet, you,” Harry says, grinning down at him. “Now like I said. You’re all my very best friends, and I love you. A lot. So, cheers to that!” He raises his glass and knocks it back. When he slams the glass down, his eyes are wide and he shakes his head a little, but then he sits down, grinning like a loon, and plants a sloppy kiss on Niall, seemingly for no reason.

“Me next!” Sonia says, standing up and clearing her throat. She holds on to Liam’s shoulder, apparently for support. “I’d like to cheers to all of you, my beautiful boys.” All around the table, they coo and pout. “I know it’s not easy letting a woman of my caliber into your sausage fest, but you’ve done it! For years you’ve put up with me and I, in return, have given you constant pleasure, thrills, astonishing beauty, _flawless_ presence, advice—”

“Here here!” Niall yells, clapping madly, standing up like he’s giving an ovation, so Sonia side-eyes him. “Yeah alright! Cheers then, ya dicks,” and knocks hers back.

Zayn and Liam do theirs together, with their arms intertwined, like every ridiculous wedding couple ever, and they give their thanks for everyone’s friendship, support, and love, especially in the last year with the move.

Niall is next. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a varsity cut jacket, looking for all the world like a uni student on a Friday night. Zayn wonders if that was intentional. “Thanks, first, to Harry, whose cock I ride daily that gives me sustenance and the will to go on.” Zayn whistles and Louis breaks out in peals of laughter. “Shut up now, I’m trying to be serious! Thanks also to all of you, the loves of me life. You’re stuck with me, sorry. Thanks to this shot I’m about to take and will 100% be regretting in the morning.” He claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “So thanks, again, to Harry, who will let me ride his cock tonight then wake me in the morning with a sizzling plate of full Irish. Cheers!”

“Like _fook_ I will,” Harry says through his laughter, shaking his head.

Louis stands to do his cheer and takes his time looking at all of them around the circle of the table. “Well, what can I say? Without you all, I’d be nothing, well and truly. This last year’s been rough, as you know,” and simultaneously, everyone thinks of Eleanor. “But!” he perks back up. “You’ve all been great, absolutely fucking brilliant, and I love that I get to celebrate with you tonight. Cheers!” He holds the shot up high then brings it to his lips like he’s about to take it but he pauses. “Oh! And cheers to the guy I may or may not be shagging currently who I may or may not hate with every bone in my body but also maybe like? A lot? Cheers!” And it’s rushed out but as soon as he slams his glass back on the table they all speak at once.

“You what?!”

“Who—he—what?”

“How big is his dick?”

“Lou!”

“Alright simmer down, simmer down,” Louis says, pulling his stool forward. He spends a second fixing his hair, stalling. “It’s not a big deal, you know. He’s just—”

“Name, please,” Harry says, mouth stern. He looks irritated, like how dare Louis bag someone, someone _consistent,_ without telling him. Which, yeah, Zayn can relate.

Louis wipes the back of his mouth with his hand but doesn’t say anything.

“Name,” Zayn says, staring straight at him.

Louis rolls his eyes. “His name’s Nick, alright? It’s not a big deal. Just a shag.”

“How’d you meet him?” Liam asks, and his eyes are also narrowed. Everyone around the table is giving Louis death stares actually, but serves him right. No one kisses without telling.

“Oh he like, works for radio? He was at the pitch a while back, interviewing some—”

“A _while back_?” Zayn asks pointedly. “You bastard. You’re in love with him.”

Louis chokes and gapes. “Am not!” he says, aghast.

“You are, mate,” Niall says, grinning. “Or nearly enough. The last time you kept a shag a secret was—well, never.”

“Like I tell you lot everyone I fuck!”

“Mmmm, you kinda do, love,” Sonia says, baring her teeth sympathetically. “We’ve all got the receipts.” She gestures and everyone around the table pulls out their phones and scrolls to their conversations with Louis, much to his dismay.

Liam starts, reading dramatically. “M8, ive got the fittest girl on me arm, tits i could get lost in, she—”

Harry starts reading, cutting him off. “harry luv, what lube was that u and niall have, that flavored one? im with a proper posh lad and don’t want him to—”

“Don’t be sharing our lube secrets!” Niall grumbles at Harry.

Zayn clears his throat, flicking his gaze to Louis who is well and truly blushing. “chances out of 10 you’d come to mine and do a brew???? i’ve got someone over and me ass is still too sore to—”

“Enough!” Louis shouts, trying desperately to hit them all at once, but being too short to reach all the way across the table. “Good C _hrist_ I have _got_ to stop doing that.”

“Don’t ever stop,” Sonia says, laughing heartily and stroking her hands through his hair. “We love it. And we love _you_ , which is why we’re telling you. This one’s different.”

“But I haven’t even said anything!” he protests.

Harry just stares at him, smiling. “Doesn’t matter. We know you. If this one wasn’t important you would’ve told us about him a long time ago. How long have you known him?”

Louis turns into Sonia’s hand in his hair and lets himself be pet, folding his arms on the table and suddenly looking very young. “Going on five months now?” he says, and they all just look at him pointedly. “Oh _bloody_ —alright, I suppose this one is different,” he allows. “He’s definitely fit. _More_ than fit, he’s like. Tall and dark-haired and a bit goofy? But oh my word the way we argue.”

“‘Bout what?” Niall asks.

“Everything,” Louis says, grinning to himself. “Just banter mostly, but he’s an opinionated knobhead too clever for his own good. I’ve got to bring him down a peg, naturally.”

Zayn scrunches his face up. “Sounds a lot like you, actually.”

“Hey!” Louis points at Zayn, staring for a second, before giving up and smiling. “You’re right. But there can’t be two opinionated knobheads in a working relationship, obviously.”

“ _I_ beg to differ,” Harry mumbles, making big eyes at Niall and sipping his drink.

“Here here,” Zayn says, making kissy faces at Liam when he pouts.

“Oh god, is this what I’ve got to look forward to?” Louis asks loudly, but directs at Sonia. “Domesticity and gross displays of public affection?”

“I dunno,” Sonia says, tilting her head at both couples. “I kinda like it. Gets me hot.”

“Ayyyy!” Everyone cheers.

“You did say the R word, though!” Liam supplies, excitedly.

Louis starts and flushes a little when he realizes he’s right. “Yeah, it’s. I’ve been meaning to talk to him about it.”

“Aw, bless,” Zayn says, leaning over to pinch Louis’ cheeks. “Proud of you, mate." It'll be good to see Louis in a relationship again.

The beat kicks up then, and Zayn feels it in his bones. Liam’s knee is jiggling and Zayn laughs when he can feel it against his own. Feeling reckless, he leans over and noses behind Liam’s ear, down at his neck where he smells like a little too much cologne. He wants to lick him all over.

“You want to dance, old man?” He asks instead, pulling back so he can see Liam’s face.

Liam just stares at him, licking his lips. Then he leans in like he’s going for a kiss so Zayn relaxes his face for it, doesn’t move back, but then Liam stops with his lips a hair’s breadth away from his mouth. He can feel the air from it when Liam breathes out, “Yeah,” and he squeezes his thigh, knocks the rest of his drink back, and heads to the dancefloor without looking back.

Zayn doesn’t even look to see what the rest of them are talking about or if they’re even following him before he stumbles off his stool and follows the scent, and the pull, of Liam.

The dancefloor is just as stupidly wonderful as Zayn remembers them being, back when he was a decade younger and always scouting for someone, wanting to see and be seen. Now he only really wants the attention from one person but he can’t find him. The strobe lights distort everything in greens, pinks, and blues, and it’s clear just from the hazy look on everyone’s faces that they’re well on their way to fucked out of their minds. Zayn can feel it in himself, knows that he’s probably got that same hazy look on his face, and it’s enough to make him just stop where he is, in the middle of a crowd, moving his body to the beat.

He’s glad he didn’t dress in layers, as Liam had vehemently warned him against, because within minutes he’s burning up. He did wear his hair down though, and he knows how it makes him look, especially now, aglow with colored lights and his forehead shiny with sweat. The people dancing around him seem well enough, but they’re not who he needs right now, he realizes, drunkenness making him slow. He whips his head from side to side, trying to focus on anything long enough to see clearly, but then there’s a tug on his elbow and he’s tripping over his feet through the crowd.

It’s Harry. There’s a blonde bobbing head in front of him that must be Niall, and Zayn sees that Louis’ at the top of the line, all of them tethered together like a human centipede. Zayn throws a glance back over his shoulder, towards their table now scattered with empty glasses, and gets a glimpse of Sonia back at the bar, this time sitting, legs crossed lasciviously, chatting with the same bartender from before. Zayn laughs and resigns himself to a long story over brunch tomorrow.

Suddenly, they stop moving and Zayn realizes that they’ve made their own little clearing in the dance floor, where it’s just the five of them. Because Liam’s already there, dancing like mad, and if Zayn didn’t already love him a disgusting amount, this is the moment when he’d probably start. He’s wearing a button up with a dark floral pattern and he’s already rolled the sleeves up to the elbow, showing off the tattoo he got right before they all graduated from uni, 4 arrows representing each of them. The lights shine off it now and Zayn wants to trace it, with his fingers and his tongue, licking the sweat from it and pressing his lips firmly to the arrow at the top that he knows represents him.

Zayn walks to Liam immediately, the alcohol making his steps deliberate. Liam’s eyes light up when he sees him and he looks, for a moment, all of twenty-one again, buttoned tight up to the neck and looking awestruck and eager, like he’s ready to take on the world.

“You found me,” he yells in Zayn’s ear, stepping close and wrapping his arms around his waist to pull him in.

“I always do,” Zayn yells back, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops hanging low on his waist.

“Um, with some help!” Louis butts in, pushing them apart with his arms. “And none of that tonight! If I’m going to be good and like, not shag anyone but Nick then. Well. No one gets to be bad on the dance floor.”

It goes to show how drunk Liam must be with how fast he snags Louis’ arm and pulls him in close. “No one, eh? Not even you?” He raises his eyebrows over Louis’ shoulders and while Louis is still struggling in his grasp Zayn steps up behind him, so he’s sandwiched between them, a delicious tiny ball of energy.

Zayn’s got his feet spread wide enough that he can get Louis’ ass between his legs, and he notices that Louis doesn’t hesitate to sink back into him. “You tart,” he laughs out, pinching his side. “But you’re always bad.”

Louis tilts his head back so Zayn can see his smile. “Yeah, well…” and he trails off, choosing instead to start dancing.

They do that for a bit and Zayn basks in it, in how effortless they can be with each other, in how they can all be sexual but it doesn’t have to mean anything. And Louis’ so good at this, always has been, knowing how to move his body in a way that keeps both Liam and Zayn interested. It’s a talent that Zayn’s never really been able to possess, not a natural dancer like Liam or with hips like Louis, but he knows how to fuck so he grips his hands on Louis’ waist and mostly watches Liam’s face, the way he’s watching Louis.

Harry and Niall don’t let that last very long though, pulling them all apart after a few songs and telling them to keep it in their fucking pants, Jesus, they were drawing a crowd.

“Were we?” Zayn asks, astonished, looking around at all the 20 somethings who, funnily enough, are all kind of staring at them.

“Um, duh,” Niall says, smacking Zayn on the head. “I swear Malik, those pretty looks are so lost on you.”

Harry says something then and it makes Niall’s eyes crinkle up in laughter, but Zayn can’t hear him because Beyonce’s just come on and, well. It’s Beyonce.

They all start shouting the lyrics in each other’s faces and dancing around each other and when it’s time for the single ladies hand, they pop theirs up and wave them back and forth in time. Harry is the most ridiculous, camping it up and swiveling his head from side to side, but Zayn’s got them all beat on sheer disdain; he knows that the look on his face is good because he’s perfected it. When Niall attempts to crouch on the floor and somehow shimmy his way back up, looking way too much like a newborn sea turtle learning to use it’s flippers, they all crack up and can barely make it through the rest of the song without holding onto each other for dear life.

The chorus comes up again and midway through a body roll that he is extremely proud of, Zayn gets a stark view of Liam’s face, open and giddy in the flash of a strobe light, and he’s reminded, bizarrely, of that interaction with Todd bloody Pickens and how he’d made him think that nothing about his relationship with Liam screamed “sure thing.”

Zayn knows that Louis said not to, but Louis’ fucked off to get more drinks anyways and Zayn is an adult who makes his own decisions, so he pushes all thoughts of Todd bloody Pickens out of his mind and winds his hands in the fabric of Liam’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. The slackness in Liam’s mouth makes Zayn want to be sloppy, so he pushes his tongue out and licks into Liam’s mouth so he can kiss him deeper. Liam’s hands, greedy when he’s drunk, are on Zayn’s ass and when he doesn’t do anything more innocent than slip them into the back pockets so he can palm him, Zayn laughs and has to break the kiss.

“I love you, old man,” he yells, just because he can.

Liam beams at him and puts his hand on his forehead, pushing the sweaty hair off. “I love you too, darling,” he says, and he’s looking at Zayn like he’s done a billion times before but it still makes Zayn feel like the luckiest person on the planet.

The next thing he feels is a smack on his bottom, but not from Liam. Louis’ come back with the drinks and shoves one in Zayn’s face so he’s forced to step back from Liam.

“Alright alright, you prude,” he says, laughing, taking it from Louis’ hands.

“You too, Leemo,” Louis shouts, and the look on Liam’s face shows how shocked he is at hearing it. Louis hasn’t called him that since uni. Zayn smirks at Louis over the rim of his glass and figures that they’re all feeling it a bit, nostalgia for the way things were back then but also weirdly like. Happy, with where they are now.

He’s drunk so it doesn’t feel like something he has to think about when he drinks the bright green, sour tasting drink and turns to Harry and asks, “Are you happy?”

“Happy?” Harry asks back, shaking the hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“I’m over the _fookin_ ’ moon,” Harry says, and then he throws his head back and howls. Like he’s howling at the moon.

“ _You_ happy?” Zayn asks, leaning on Niall maybe a bit too much because he stumbles a little.

Niall looks at Harry who’s grinning at him like a dope. “Yeah, what Styles said. Howl for me again, babe.” Harry does, longer and louder this time. They’re disgusting.

“You’re both,” Zayn insists, pointing between them, “like—gross.”

They flick him off and keep dancing to the music, twirling each other around like ballerinas.

“Liam, Louis,” Zayn calls them, throwing an arm around each of their necks. “Are you happy?”

Louis takes Zayn’s hand in his and kisses it, then holds onto it. “I’m getting there. Nick helps. Loads.”

Zayn’s heart swells in his chest and he really, really needs to meet this Nick and thank him. And probably fall in love with him, too. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he says sincerely, and he’s going to cringe at this drunken confessional side of him in the morning but he figures it’s ok now when Louis just smiles back at him and doesn’t crack a joke.

“And Liam!” Zayn starts, whipping his head to the other side. “My husband! Are _you_ —”

But Liam snags him around the waist and twirls him, so fast the room spins, dipping him and kissing the breath out of him before he can right himself. There’s cheering but Zayn can’t even blush at the attention because Liam is holding him just right and kissing him just right and all of his boys are around him and. Well.

It’s over just as quickly as it happened and when Zayn opens his eyes to find himself standing upright and eye-level with Liam, whose eyes are bright and whose expression is charmingly drunk, Liam replies, “As if you had to ask,” and, yeah, that’s how Zayn feels. Happy.

Later, once they practically shut the pub down and have to be kicked out, draped over each other at the curb, Sonia whizzes past them all to snag the last cab in the queue. Her bartender boytoy is in tow behind her. She waves a hand out the window as the cab pulls away and they all shout obscenities after her through their laughter. The next cab that comes up is barely a fit for them, but Louis ensures them all, loudly, that he’ll be fucked before he gives it up for someone else so they’d better snuggle up real close. They end up with Louis in the front seat and Harry, god knows why, sprawled across the rest of them in the backseat. He’s a riot the entire way, starting and stopping about a million different stories, none of which have a point but eventually come around to “Niall, I’m hungry,” which starts a chorus of agreement.

Somehow, they convince the cabbie to swing them by their old favorite pizza place and they file in with the rest of the drunk charmers of the night, salivating over everything in the displays. Zayn barely remembers that part, only that it was very bright and Liam’s arm around his shoulder was very, very warm. The next thing he realizes fully is that they’re back in the cab and someone, maybe Niall? Is feeding him pizza.

“I’m drunk, not _inable_ ,” he announces, and he snatches the pizza out of the maybe-Niall’s hand and feeds himself. Which sucks, because he’s got to put in more effort now. Ugh.

When the cab drops them off in front of Two Monkeys, Niall's and Harry's pub, Niall fumbles with the key for a minute before the door opens and they file in. Like a mother hen, he shuffles them all upstairs, pulling Louis forcibly away from the pub entrance because—

“Louis, you just ate!” Niall protests, tugging Louis away even as he tries to cling to the door.

“But—your food is _so_ good, Niall...it’s _so_...potstickers and chicken wings and—”

“ _Up_ you go,” Niall says, giggling, and shoves Louis up the stairs.

They all change into pajamas and squash themselves into Harry’s and Niall’s bed and it’s big, but not big enough for five grown men. They end up spending an hour awake, eating from a bag of Doritos and talking, laughing, about everything. Eventually, they drift off to sleep. Liam pokes Zayn awake and they try to get each other off in the dark but they’re too drunk, too giggly, and they end up falling asleep with their hands down each other’s pants.

In the morning, there is nothing cute about the sun shining through the window, the taste in Zayn’s mouth, or the way Harry’s hair has somehow found it’s way stuck to his lips, but he does at least laugh when he has to extract Liam’s hand from his dick to crawl out of the cavernous bed to go take a piss.

 

* * *

               

The next time they’re all together, it’s in August for the housewarming. There is a lot less alcohol involved. Except not really, because Liam is coming through the door yet again with another large crate of wine.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn hisses, eyeing the crate. “Who's that bloody for?”

“Keep your voice down,” Harry scolds, walking in behind Liam with another crate. “The kids are outside but I read in an article online that it’s good for the family environment to keep it as peaceful and swear-free as possible.”

“Fuck you and fuck that article,” Zayn bites out, snatching the crate from Harry and stacking it on the others. The french door bangs against the wall and there’s Niall, with yet another crate. Zayn throws his hands up, at a loss. “ _Who_ is drinking all of this wine?”

“Cheers,” Liam says, taking the crate from Niall. “Love, you know how they are. They wouldn’t let me go!”

‘They’ were Dev and Priyanka, the couple who owned the wine shop. They were cutthroat sellers, never taking no for answer, and if you didn’t sample at least two wines in the shop at each visit you might as well not bother coming back. Zayn never had a problem with them because he never stuck around long enough for their foolishness.

There were many reasons Zayn loved Liam but his strident desire to please everyone was not (always) one of them.

“There’s so…,” Zayn starts, but he has to stop because there’s just. So much wine. “How much was all this?”

Liam looks sheepish as he runs his hands through his hair. “Well I only bought the one set,” he points to a stack of whites, three lovely bottles. “And they’re testing these ones out so they just gave them to us,” he gestures to the rest, the reds and the roses.

“Testing them?” Zayn asks, skeptical.

“Yeah, like, from vineyards they’re just trying to...see about.”

“To _see about_? So it’ll taste like piss then.”

“Not necessarily!”

“You brought _see about_ wine to a gathering full of alcoholics.”

“Stop saying it like that,” Liam chides, laughing at his own expense. “I’m sure it’s fine, Dev and Priyanka know their stuff.”

Zayn doesn’t have time for this. He moves back to the freezer where he’d been getting all the meats sorted to take them out to the grill. “Yeah, well, you’d better hope they do, inshallah. Because Trisha Malik knows her wine and there is no way I’m dealing with her when she tells me it tastes like piss.”

Liam snorts. Harry and Niall come in behind him, each holding an end to the cooler. “Where do you want this?” Niall asks.

“Outside is good. By the grill, thanks,” Zayn says. “And shouldn’t you be doing this?” He turns, asking Liam, referring to the unpacking and opening and sorting of the meats. The grill has always been Liam’s thing but never let it be said that Zayn couldn’t help.

“Oh yeah! I guess I should’ve just done that while I was out getting wine, with all my multiple hands,” Liam replies, and there’s only a little bit of a snap to it but it’s enough to make Zayn feel bad.

Zayn wipes his hands on a towel and walks over to Liam, hugging him from behind and sighing into his broad back. “Sorry, love. I’m just tense.”

Liam leans back into him. “I know you are. But for the millionth time, there’s no need.”

“Ugh, _rationally_ I know that, but,” Zayn points to his head, circling his finger. “My brain’s a bit stuck.”

Quickly, Liam pecks him on the mouth. “No worries! I’ve got it from here,” he assures him, reaching in the fridge for the rest of the meat and also snagging a Corona.

“Thank God,” Zayn says, walking out of the kitchen. “If you need me, I’ll just be…,” and he gestures vaguely with his hand.

Liam snorts. “Yeah, you’ll be fucked off to nowhere in sight.”

“Precisely!” Zayn calls back over his shoulder, and he steps outside into the garden.

It’s a beautiful afternoon for a housewarming but that still doesn’t stop Zayn’s stomach coiling in nervous knots. There was always something about having everyone together, both families with friends, that felt risky. Things always ended up just fine, but there was always the chance of an off-color remark, an invasive question, a joke just the wrong side of offensive. 

Liam and Zayn had been planning for weeks. The date had been tricky, with everyone on their own schedules with work and then the kids with school, but they’d eventually decided on the last weekend in August. And it was a scorcher; the summer sun was roasting everything it touched. Walking outside now, Zayn wants to kick his shoes off and just sink his toes in the grass, let them feel the heat from the sun.

The garden’s come a long way. No longer just wild and untamed growth, it actually resembles a proper garden now, with a proper central gathering space and a beautiful border of tulips and wildflowers, keeping everything contained. At the far edge of the garden are Liam’s soil beds. Nothing’s been planted long enough to grow yet, but Zayn still loves how he can see the raised little signs that say what each section of soil will grow, how Liam let Ruby write half and Alfie write the other half so snap peas is spelled “peaz” and asparagus is spelled “spargus.”

Liam and Zayn had worked together to decide what they wanted the garden to look like and they had opted for some sort of outdoor dining space. Zayn had come across some recycled wood for one of his projects so he’d had Liam craft it into a table, beautifully long and ruggedly elegant. Liam had stained it a dark cherry color and Zayn had been able to have some benches sent down from another project up in London.

Niall and Harry are at the table now, setting jarred candles all down the middle so that they’ll have light once the sun sets.

“Cheers, babes,” Zayn says as he passes Niall and Harry. “Where’s Sonia?”

“Doing the least amount of work possible,” Harry says fondly. He nods his head further into the garden, the part that curls around the house.

Zayn walks in that direction, trying not to freak out at the amount of bees that fly past him, and there is Sonia, perched in the grass with Alfie and Ruby on either side of her, snuggled so close they’re nearly in her lap, and she’s reading aloud to them.

“But Gerald the Giraffe was not afraid to dance, oh no, even though he had a long neck and all the other zoo animals liked to tease him. Which animal is that, there?” She points to the book.

“Elephant!” Alfie and Ruby say at the same time.

“That’s right!” she praises, turning the page. “Gerald was going to dance no matter what anybody else said. So he practiced, and practiced, and practiced some more, until—”

“Until he can dance like _this_!” Zayn shouts, waving his arms around like he imagined a giraffe’s neck would look, if it moved in a dancing fashion.

“Oh please, you think that’s dancing?” Sonia puts the book down and stands up. “I’ll show you dancing.” Then she does a complicated move that’s a bunch of neck action, arm movements, and leg kicks.

“Babes, who do you think is a better giraffe?” Zayn asks the kids.

It’s unanimous. “Auntie Sunny, Auntie Sunny!” they squeal, laughing and imitating her dance.

“Not me? Your old dad?!” Zayn pretends to pout and when they run over to him to give him a hug he picks them both up, an arm each wrapped around their middles, and swings them upside down. When he sets them down they immediately run away in the opposite direction, probably running to ask their uncles Harry and Niall to show them if they can dance as well as Gerald.

“I need help,” Zayn says to Sonia. Her dark skin is glowing with sweat. She’s got her braids piled high into a bun on her head and is wearing a dress that clings to every curve of her. It billows out right above the knee and there’s patches of sweat stained on the dress, grass and dirt stuck to it from where she was kneeling, but it only adds to the way she looks; like some sort of summer goddess arrived to bestow blessings upon them. “You look fucking fantastic, by the way,” he adds.

She puts a hand to her heart. “Oh _don’t I_ , though!” She twirls so her dress fans out. “You know I have to show up and show out for Yaser.”

“Ok, please, don’t,” Zayn stammers out, waving his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please keep that to a minimum and far, far away from me.”

Sonia only giggles and fans herself. The sun is beaming directly down on her. “What’s up then, what needs my help?”

Zayn starts walking back towards the house and she follows. “Can you just, like, damage control? It’s just been so long since we’ve all been together like this, I just...everything needs to be perfect.”

“Mm, yeah, but John’s not coming right?” She knows all about Liam’s brother and hates him just as passionately as Zayn does. They’ve stopped at the table and there’s a basket of strawberries at the end. Sonia plucks one and bites into it. She rolls her eyes in pleasure then hands one to Zayn, who lets her put it in his mouth.

“No, he’s not,” Zayn says gratefully, through his chewing. “But I don’t know, there’s still like. Tension. Sometimes.”

Sonia puts a hand on her hip. “Is there?”

“I mean, yeah? Yeah.”

“I don’t think there is.”

Zayn makes a face.

“I don’t!” She says, laughing. “I think this is all in your head, love. What’d Liam say?”

Zayn sighs. “That it’s all in my head. But we both want this to be good! It’s a big deal, you know? New house and all that. New life.”

Even though it’s hot, Sonia wraps her arms around him from behind and hugs against his back. He’s only got a tank on so it’s not bad, but he can still feel her heat. “Same people, though, yeah?” she whispers. “Same ones who love you and love Liam and put up with an _incredible_ amount of shit from the both of you.”

Zayn laughs and holds her hands in his, against his stomach. “I guess you’re right.”

She stands on her tiptoes and he can feel her kiss to the back of his neck. “Always.”

And then she’s running away, dark legs breezing through the grass as she joins Alfie and Ru in a game of chase, weaving through the garden.

Harry’s sitting at the other end of the table, strumming his guitar. Zayn walks over to him. “D’ya want a drink?” he asks, watching Harry tune the guitar.

“Niall went to get me one, actually,” he says, not looking up from his fingers. “He’s probably in the kitchen with Liam.”

Niall is in there when Zayn gets in, and he’s got two beers in his hands but he’s not making any moves to deliver the other to Harry. He’s engrossed in conversation with Liam, something about football, so Zayn yanks both beers from Niall’s hand and Niall barely even turns his head.

Zayn steps back outside, back into the heat, and sees that Harry’s also been pulled into a game of chase. Zayn waves him over and he comes running, his curls bouncing where they’re hanging down.

“You trying to catch up to me in the long hair game?” He asks teasingly, popping open the Corona and handing it to Harry.

Harry takes a long swig and laughs. “Yeah right. I might be winning the game, actually.”

“Yeah I think you might,” Zayn says, pulling one of his curls at the back as far as it’ll stretch. “Not bad, Styles.”

“Thanks, but it’s too bloody hot,” Harry declares, and he sets his beer between his knees and quickly knots his hair up in a bun. “God, that’s better. Niall told me to keep it out though. He can’t get enough of it.”

“Right?! To this day, Liam still nearly creams himself every time I round a corner and my hair’s down.”

Harry snorts into his beer. “Things I did not need to know.”

“Oh, whatever. The dirt I have on you and Niall I could start another garden.”

Harry smiles and looks out over the garden. “Speaking of, it’s really nice out here mate. You all did a top job.”

“You think so?” Zayn knows it’s true but he loves hearing it, can’t help but beam a little.

“Yeah, it’s fabulous. I think when me and Niall get tired of living above the restaurant we’d like to do something like this, you know? Bit of garden. Bit of space.”

“Definitely. But it suits you, too, that ‘above pub chic.’”

Harry smirks and clinks their bottles together. “I’ll cheers to that! Remind me to tell that to Niall later, he’ll love it.”

They both spend a second just looking out over the garden and at the land beyond, the rolling hills of the valley. All the sheep are out on the Cooper’s farm and every now and then their braying will carry over on a breeze. The architectural part of Zayn’s brain has always appreciated the layout of the countryside, the meticulous distinction in farmland that makes for natural divisions, a bit of hedges to designate property or a line of trees. It’s all splayed out before him now, orderly and tidy, and he’s grateful that this is his view.

He takes another sip of Corona and wishes he’d have thought to drop a lime in. “So. Louis, then.” He and Harry still haven’t talked about it, and that’s only because he’s not sure if there’s anything to talk about.

Harry scuffs his boot on the ground and clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“I guess I just...didn’t know how you felt,” Zayn tries hesitantly.

Harry turns his head to look at Zayn and his expression is the last thing Zayn expected. It’s joy. Utter joy. “I feel—amazing, Zayn, fuck. You should see the way Louis looks when he’s around Nick.”

“Really?” Zayn asks, a little taken aback with the fervor that in Harry’s voice. Aside from a few conversations here and there, Louis has been very clipped about this whole Nick situation. When Zayn had told him to stop being ridiculous and just bring him to the housewarming already, Louis had sounded genuinely touched. As though Zayn wasn’t going to want to meet Nick and either throttle him or hug him to death.

“Yeah, honestly,” Harry continues. “We’ve met just the once, Louis brought him to dinner at ours and we had a few drinks after closing, but he’s aces. Funny. Smart. Extremely sarcastic but very witty. He’s level-headed, exactly what Louis needs.”

“Wow, I…” Zayn says, curling his hands around the coolness of the beer. “I’m glad he’s coming then. I thought I was going to have to personally go up to London and kick Louis’ ass until he introduced us.”

Harry smiles. “He has been quiet about the whole thing, hasn’t he? But you know how he’s been, since Eleanor and all. Just taking things slow.”

Zayn nods his understanding. “How is El, have you heard from her?”

It’s only slight, but Harry’s expression gets a little bit dark. It’s to be expected when she broke his best friend’s heart. “I haven’t seen her but Niall has; I think he ran into her at Waitrose a few times.” He waves to Alfie, who, for some reason has stopped running in the middle of the grass and turns to wave at them both. Then he runs away a second later as if nothing happened. Harry shrugs, returning to his statement. “He said she looked good. Seemed good.”

“That’s good,” Zayn says, feeling a bit like an idiot.

“Yeah. But Nick,” and Harry lights up again, “you’ll love him. Hundred percent. What time are they getting here?”

Zayn glances down at his watch. “Within the hour, I’d say. Along with everybody else, but fuck knows what inevitable tragedy will befall the Maliks on their way up. Always something to account for being late.”

Turns out that he speaks too soon, because the next thing he hears is car doors slamming. The sound of Yaser’s voice is unmistakable, griping about the bugs zipping around his face before he even gets out the car fully. Then there’s Trisha, delegating to Safaa and Waliyha to hold this and that and carry it up to the house. Zayn rolls his eyes when he hears them but he can’t help smiling from ear to ear at their voices. It’s been months since he’s seen them all together.

He sighs and takes one last pull from his beer before he sets it down. “Well! Here we go, I guess,” and he drags Harry with him around to the front of the house to greet them.

Everyone starts yelling immediately, calling out each other’s names in greeting, and Zayn can barely get a hug in to everyone before Trisha’s piling his arms high with food. Harry leads the girls into the house and Zayn tries not to die laughing at the way they both swoon at him, after all these bloody years.

“Mum, we are cooking you know,” he says, grimacing at the weighty dishes in his arms and trying to keep his balance.

Trisha waves her hand and clucks her tongue, following him into the garden. “I know, I know, but you know how your father is. Can’t have a barbecue without a kebab, he says.”

“Is that what these are? Kebabs?! Dad, I told you we’d have some.”

Yaser grumbles something unintelligible behind his own stack of dishes. “But will they taste like these? Wallah, not as good as your mothers.”

“Aw, bless,” Trisha says, rubbing his back. They step into the garden and Zayn sets the dishes down on the table, directing his dad to do the same. “Look at this though!” Trisha says, astonished as she looks around the garden, attention caught by the bright pinks and oranges of the tulips. “Isn’t this a beauty?”

Zayn shakes the hair out of his eyes and smiles. “Thanks, Mum. We’re really proud of it.”

Yaser claps him on the back and squeezes the back of his neck, like he used to when he was little. “You should be, my son. Now! Where are my grandchildren?”

Zayn pops another strawberry and walks towards the house, gesturing for them to follow. “They’re around here somewhere. Stuck to Sonia, no doubt.”

“Ah!” Trisha exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I didn’t know Sonia was here already!”

“Yep, she got in last night. And all the boys are here, except for Louis. He’ll be down soon with his new bloke.”

“Ah?” Yaser asks, eyebrows raised.

“Dad, don’t start,” Zayn warns jokingly. Yaser has always been too terribly protective of Zayn and his friends. Uni visits were a nightmare. Zayn couldn’t introduce Yaser to a new friend without him asking the friend, in all seriousness, if they were dating such-and-such other friend of Zayn’s and if so would they please take care not to break their heart? “Incestuous,” Yaser would grumble, shaking his head, every time Zayn mentioned his friend group and how, no, that person wasn’t dating that person anymore but instead dating _this_ person.

“You don’t know him,” Zayn assures him.

“Hmm,” Yaser only hums. Trisha hits him and tells him to behave.

They step into the kitchen and it’s weird, Zayn realizes, to try and see it from new eyes. His parents had come down soon after they’d moved, but that was before everything had been renovated and adjusted like it was now. Liam’s still at the island with Niall, who’s helping him marinate some of the meat, so Zayn hangs back a little while Trisha and Yaser say hello to them. Liam’s so ridiculous, picking Trisha up and spinning her, and when he hugs Yaser he holds on far too long.

“Come on, let me show you the rest of the house,” Zayn says, and he leads them through.

Liam had opened all the windows earlier so there’s a glorious breeze that’s moving through the house, making it significantly cooler than it is outside. One of the things they’d debated in their renovations was whether or not to invest in an air conditioner but Zayn’s glad they didn’t. There’s something to be said for the slight stickiness of summer, the way a nice breeze in a room can make it come alive, made time feel stagnant, lazy and slow. There’s still a long sheet of paper on the living room floor from Alfie and Ruby’s coloring earlier so they all pause to look at it. Zayn had suggested to them to try and draw all the family members coming to visit, and they'd done their best to do everyone’s likeness.

“Look,” Zayn says grinning, pointing down to the paper, “they’ve got you both there, holding hands. They even got your angry eyebrows, Dad.” And sure enough, there are two fuzzy lines where Yaser’s eyebrows are supposed to be.

“Ya-Allah,” Yaser says, gasping and peering down at the paper, his eyebrows doing an impressive imitation. “Where are those rascals, I need a word.”

There’s the sound of scampering feet and then Alfie and Ruby are barreling into the room. “Granny, Grandpa!” Trisha and Yaser crouch down immediately, scooping them up and peppering kisses over their faces.

 “How are you, my loves?” Trisha asks. “Oh, let me look at you!”

“Have you got any sweets for us?” Ruby asks, her little hands on Trisha’s shoulders.

“Of course I do!” Trisha assures. “Why don’t you show us the rest of your pretty new house, and I’ll give you some?”

“But only a little,” both Zayn and Yaser say at the same time. It’s only a little embarrassing, so they laugh.

“Fathers will be fathers, eh son?” Yaser smirks at Zayn, but Alfie’s already tugging him by the hand out of the room, chattering on about how they need to see their bedroom and all their toys.

No longer needed, Zayn heads back into the kitchen. Liam has enlisted Waliyha and Safaa’s help, it seems. Zayn can’t get over how big they are now, but they’re never too big for a hug. So he comes up behind them both and envelopes them, ruffling up their hair and laughing when they protest and try to get out of his arms.

“Oi, better keep your boy in line,” Safaa says to Liam, rolling her eyes at Zayn and trying to fix her hair.

“Now when have I ever been able to do that?” Liam asks.

“Good answer,” Zayn says, laughing. He goes to the cooler and gets them each a beer.

Waliyha takes a long pull from hers. Her makeup is pristine and Zayn will never get over how she does it, even in this heat. “Are you going to give us the grand tour? This is a housewarming, right?”

“Yeah, so where’s your gift?” Zayn asks, eyebrows raised in question.

“Ummm, my presence is a present, thanks.”

Zayn laughs and rolls his eyes. “Like fuck it is. How was the drive down?”

“Oh shit,” Safaa says, and it’s weird but Zayn’s probably never going to get over hearing her talk like this, brash and unapologetic. It’s so different than the way she was when they were growing up but he loves it. They all worried for a bit, whether she was going to grow into herself, but she has, and she’s done so beautifully. “It was a mess. We got lost twice, thanks to—”

“You’d better not say me,” Waliyha warns.

“— _You_ ,” Safaa says, pointedly. “Alhamdulillah, she wasn’t behind the wheel! We probably would’ve ended up at the coast.”

Waliyha smacks her lips. “It wasn’t my fault entirely! There’s nothing but sheep out here anyways, how was I supposed to know it wasn’t the same farm?”

Zayn makes a questioning face. “Ugh,” Waliyha explains, “I remembered that you lived close to a farm, right? With sheep? Well I saw one and told dad to turn and it...wasn’t the same farm.”

“Not even close,” Safaa elaborates. “We took a dirt road for at least half an hour before we realized and turned around.” She gestures with the neck of her beer bottle at Liam and Zayn in turn. “Never, and I mean _never_ , let this one give you direction.”

Waliyha rolls her eyes and flicks her off.

“Granted, there are lots of sheep,” Zayn says, laughing at their banter. “And lots of dirt roads.”

“You can say that again,” Safaa says. She looks at Liam who’s at the fridge, pulling out all the ingredients to take outside. “You do like it though, right?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, craning his head back around the open door. “It’s brilliant.”

Zayn nods in agreement. “It really is. Couldn’t have found a better fit for the kids, either. They love the city, too, but they’re just like...I dunno. What would you call it?”

Liam thinks for a minute. “They’re like….centered, I guess? Calm? I mean, to an extent,” he clarifies, laughing. “I think it’s got something to do with the air. The space, like? It encourages them to be themselves, open and free and all that.”

Waliyha and Safaa share a look.

“Well listen to you two,” Waliyha says, sounding impressed. “Couple of Britain’s finest parents, or what?”

“Whatever,” Zayn says, smiling. “It is good, though. Really.”

“Sick,” Safaa says, smiling as she pulls from her beer.

“Is that ready to go out?” Zayn asks Liam, his arms full of condiments and toppings.

“Yeah, if you could all just—” and they all stand up to help him, gathering everything and taking it outside.

Niall and Harry are sitting at the table, all chilled out in their sunglasses and crossed legs.

“Need a hand?” Niall calls out, as they all struggle to set everything up beside the grill.

“Yeah, cheers!” Waliyha calls back, heading back into the house for more.

Niall just stares blankly at them, nodding way after Waliyha’s spoken. “Well if you’re sure! We’ll just be here then.”

Safaa gapes at them. “Why’re you friends with such bastards, anyways?” she asks Zayn loudly, much to Niall’s merriment.

“Dunno,” Zayn says, shrugging and helping Liam set the grill up. “Someone’s got to love them, I guess.”

There’s a soft pressure on the back of his head and Zayn turns around to see Harry with his hand in the strawberry basket, launching them at his head.

“Do you not see this very large spatula in my hand?” He asks, shaking it in Harry’s direction. “Keep your dirty hands out the basket, you shit!”

Harry shrugs and leans his head back, tilting his face towards the sun.

“Yeah, work on your tan, Casper,” Zayn says, laughing at him.

“I heard that!”

Pretty soon, Liam gets cooking and the whole garden smells like a barbecue. Liam’s adamant about no one touching the grill but him, so Zayn leaves him to it. And happily. After Alfie and Ruby had given a very thorough tour of the house, they’d brought Trisha and Yaser back outside and immediately dropped them off with the other adults, scampering away to play. There’s not much to do while Liam’s cooking so they all end up sitting around the table and chatting. Sonia had insisted on opening the wine as soon as Trisha, her drinking buddy, had arrived, and so far so good. Zayn’s keeping a wary eye on Trisha but so far her facial expressions have been pleasant: no piss poor wine, then. It’s nice, just being able to sit like this, with everyone around the table, talking shit and stuffing themselves full with strawberries.

Karen and Nicola show up a little bit later, in a whirlwind of hugs and kisses to everyone. They don’t waste any time before pouring hefty glasses of wine and sitting down to catch up with Trisha and the girls.

“Looks like I got just enough, hmm?” Liam asks, face all smug, the next time Zayn walks to the grill and asks him if he needs any help. Zayn smacks him on the ass for it but he says yeah, he guesses that he did. Cheeky bastard.

When Louis and Nick arrive, it’s right when the food’s all ready. Everyone’s busy arranging themselves on the benches how they want to be seated so they don’t notice. Zayn is the one who hears the garden gate open and he looks up to see them. He gets up to walk over to them, leaving Safaa and Waliyha in charge of getting Alfie and Ruby situated with their plates.

Nick is taller than Zayn but he practically towers over Louis. He’s dressed like Zayn would imagine he’d dress to meet Louis’ parents or something, and he wonders what Louis had told him about the housewarming. He’s in a silk shirt rolled up to the elbows and skinnies, nice boots, and his hair is coiffed up, just enough product to look like he made an effort but not too much.

Zayn hugs Louis hello and when they part Louis clears his throat, gestures to Nick and says, “And Zayn this is, uh, Nick. My boyfriend.”

“Well what do you know,” Nick says, beaming down at Louis, and Zayn wonders if this is the first time Louis has said this publicly. It makes him love Louis even more, and Nick even more, who he doesn’t know but who Louis so clearly trusts. And Louis doesn’t give that up easily, so when Nick holds out his hand to Zayn and says that it’s a pleasure to finally meet him, Zayn bats it away and pulls him in for a hug, too. When he pulls back Louis is smiling at him, bright like the sun, and Nick is blushing high on his cheeks.

Zayn walks back towards the table. “Well come on, you two. You’re just in time for the best part.”

Nick ends up sitting between Louis and Harry and across from the kids. When there’s a lull in the conversation, Zayn will look over to him and see that he’s good with the kids. He gets ketchup on his forehead, doing something that makes Alfie and Ru giggle, and it’s sweet. Louis looks sweet too, with the way he’s looking at Nick, and when he takes a fry and smears it in the ketchup on Nick’s forehead and pops it in his mouth, much to the children’s delight, Zayn figures that Nick will be alright.

Liam must notice it too. He leans over to Zayn’s plate and skewers a piece of his kebab on his own fork. “Our Louis’ growing up, mate.”

Zayn tries and fails valiantly to win his kebab back, but he just smiles and says, “Innit.”

Niall gets up eventually and puts on a record, something light and jazzy, and it’s the perfect way to wind down with the setting sun. They’ve somehow barreled their way through four bottles of wine already and Zayn makes it a point to thank Liam later. _Thoroughly_. Trisha brings out a cake for dessert and Zayn really, really wishes he could but he’s so full he might split. Everyone else, apparently, is not as burdened and Nick takes a huge piece, making Trisha blush when he waxes on about it.

 As soon as there’s the barest hint of shadow on the garden, Harry leaps up and gets to work as official Candle Lighter.

“It’s an important job, I’ll have you know,” he says, disgruntled, to Nicola when she mocks him. It only makes him strike the matches faster, bumping everyone out of the way on his way down the table so he can lean over them to reach the candles in the middle.

“I think it looks brilliant, love,” Karen says, swirling her wine glass.

“And how much wine have you had, Karen?” Yaser asks teasingly. Everyone laughs, but once the table is completely lit up it really does look amazing.

“Cheers, Harry,” Liam says. He’s got his phone out and is taking pictures.

Harry beams and folds his arms on the table, admiring his handiwork. “You’re welcome.”

Getting an idea, Zayn runs inside and up the stairs to get his camera and tripod from the bedroom. He gets back outside and announces to everyone to huddle up, quick, before the last light leaves the sky. They all move pretty fast, surprisingly, grouping in front of the tulip beds.

Zayn fiddles with the tripod while they all argue over who needs to be in front and who’s too short to be in the back, when Nick walks up to him.

“I can take it,” Nick says confidently, his accent making Zayn think of nights out back in the city.

Zayn pulls the tripod up to proper height and makes a face at him. He hopes they’re at the stage by now where they can do that. “You’re joking, right?”

Nick looks slightly taken aback. “Oh—no, I can take it, I don’t—”

“Nick, get your ass in the group,” Zayn says, smiling and pushing him over to everyone.

He stumbles over to Louis and looks grateful when Louis stands on tiptoe to kiss him, short but sweet.

“Alright, everyone good?” Zayn calls out, peering through the viewfinder to make sure everyone’s in line.

“All good!” Ruby calls back, raising her little thumbs.

“Mmm, not you mum, scoot in a little,” Zayn says, and Trisha takes a few wobbly steps over, giggling entirely too much.

“Where are you going to go, babe?” Liam calls out to him, just as Zayn presses the button and runs over in the few seconds he has before the photo takes.

Zayn slides beside Liam, straightening his shirt and smoothing down his hair before he wraps his arm around Liam’s waist. “Next to you, duh,” he replies, and smiles just in time as the flash goes off.


	5. Fall

 “Zayn, it’s not going to fit.”

“It will.”

“It won’t.”

“It _bloody_ will, just—help me get it—”

“Zayn, as much as I’d like it to fit it’s not going to. It just won’t.”

“Liam, please, all I need is just—if you could— _fuck_ —”

And before either of them can stop it, the box splits down the sides and all the toys come tumbling out.

Liam shrugs from his position leaning on the wall. He bends down to start gathering the toys up. “I told you.”

Zayn sighs and straightens up, putting his hands on his hips. God, but that was a workout. “Not another word.”

“Mmmmmhm.”

The problem with kids is that their boredom could ruin you. Absolutely destroy you. Zayn used to think that an easily excitable child was the worst thing, because then you’d never hear the end of the questions or the wants and the “But, dad, I need this because—!” He was so wrong. And his kids were good, in the grand scheme of things, but they were still kids. When they got tired of playing with certain things, there was nothing he or Liam could do to get them to pick them up again. It had gotten to the point where all of the unwanted toys lying around had been more hindrance than anything else, and often the reason for a stubbed toe in the middle of the night, so he and Liam had decided to box them all up and put them in storage.

“Storage,” however, was a loose term, and simply meant “the closet at the end of the hall that they still hadn’t figured out what to do with.” The only thing it was good for so far was being filled to the brim with junk.

“We could just give these away, you know. To charity,” Liam says, examining the faces of dolls that Ruby used to spend hours passing the time with.

Zayn sighs, picking up a set of LEGOs and stuffing them back in the box. “I know, but...what if they ask for these again, you know? And then we don’t have them. They’ll be crushed.”

“God forbid they don’t ease the pain with the _many other_ toys they own.”

“I know, I know,” Zayn says, pouting down at the face of Alfie’s old teddy bear. “Let’s just...keep them for a bit, yeah? Please?”

Liam looks up at him and smiles warmly, like he gets it. “Yeah, babe. Just for a bit though, so don’t get excited! If we need this space for something else, it’s bye bye to these.”

“Deal,” Zayn says, grunting as he puts his weight back into pushing the box through the narrow door. He can’t help but smile to himself though, because he knows that Liam is just as much of a sentimental sap as he is. They’re never getting rid of these.

Together, they’re able to muscle the box through the door and get it to shut. “God bless,” Liam says, leaning against the closed door and wiping his brow. “I’ve got to get back to work, got a few things to take care of.” He walks down the hall and turns towards the kitchen. “Do you want a sandwich or anything?”

“Nah, that’s alright,” Zayn calls back, heading upstairs. “I’ve got a late lunch with a new client.” He walks down the hall to their bedroom and can hear Liam say something in response but he can’t tell what it is. “What was that?” He shouts back. He digs through their closet, looking for a new shirt now that his is wrinkled and dusty. He pauses for Liam’s response but his voice must not have carried downstairs. There’s a shirt at the back of the closet that still has the tags on it, Liam hasn’t worn it yet. Zayn puts it on and looks at himself in the mirror. It’s only slightly big in the arms but all he’s got to do is roll it up a bit, throw a blazer on over it and—

“Ya stunner,” he says to himself, grinning at his reflection. He runs back downstairs and finds Liam on the couch with his sandwich in his lap, flipping idly through the TV.

“What do you think?” Zayn steps in front of the TV and spins around a few times, adjusting the shirt and blazer.

Liam takes a bite out of his sandwich and cranes his head around him, trying to see the screen. “I think that’s my shirt.”

“Yeah, it is,” Zayn says, smug. “Looks better on me though.”

“Yeah right,” Liam laughs. “You haven’t even seen me in it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Zayn shrugs, plopping down beside him and stealing a chip. “Be a love and snatch the tag out for me though?”

Liam reaches his hand up and wiggles his fingers down the back of Zayn’s neck, blindly tugging until the tag comes out. He tosses it on the coffee table under his feet. Quickly, he gives Zayn a once over. “It does look well fit on you.”

Zayn kisses him for that, all teeth and smiles. “Thanks, babe. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck, you’re gonna be great! Are you good with getting the kids?”

“Yep, right after this I’m swinging by for them.” He bends down to step into his shoes. “Are you going to be late tonight?”

Liam wipes his hands on his jeans and stands up, following Zayn to the door. “I shouldn’t be, but there’s no telling. I need to rewire some lights in one of the new shops, you know down at the town center?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen those. What’s the shop?”

“Something posh and twatty, can’t remember the name.”

Zayn laughs and plucks his keys off the hook by the front door. “You should maybe figure that out. And don’t say twatty.”

Liam rubs his hand down Zayn's back, then up and under his blazer and shirt until he’s touching skin. “It’s on the storefront, I’ll just read it when I walk up.”

Zayn leans back into Liam’s touch and turns his head to knock their noses together briefly. “Paynefully Handy, indeed.”

Liam pinches him then and pushes him out the door. “Yeah alright, just go and snag another client. You got this!”

Zayn steps out into the biting autumn air, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he walks to the car. “I hope so! And hey, what’s for dinner?”

Liam stuffs his hands down into his pockets and shivers at the cold. “Whatever you cook, I suppose,” he shrugs.

“Ha bloody ha. Pick up some pizzas, will you? The kind the kids like?”

“Yeah, I will,” Liam promises, waving before he shuts the door.

Zayn starts the engine of his little Peugeot and sits for a second, closing his eyes and letting himself breathe. The engine purrs and he thinks about just a few years ago, living in London with Liam, before the kids, and the many trips they’d take in his little car. Even with Alfred’s money and Liam’s insistence that Zayn didn’t have to keep the car, with spotty peeling paint and scratches left from little scrapes here and there, Zayn had wanted to keep it. It meant a lot to him, was a nice reminder for a time when he didn’t have all that much to call his own.

And now he’s on the brink of becoming partner at his firm, a career leap that excites him as much as it scares him. He hasn’t told Liam yet, hasn’t told anyone actually; it’s only a few days that Clive, his boss, had come to him with the proposition, telling him to have a few days to think it over. And Zayn _really_ didn’t need to think it over. He’d been sitting on designs for months, too worried to bring them to any fruition past his own sketchbook. He has so many ideas for their sleepy little village, so many ideas even that he’d love to send back to his old crew in London, and being partner means he immediately gets the green light for all of that. It’s terrifying.

He opens his eyes and there’s a surge in the wind, so dead leaves hit the car and scatter it in reds, oranges, and yellows. The sun isn’t as warm as it had been just a few weeks ago, back when they were holding onto the last traces of summer, but it’s warm enough that he can feel it filter through the car and warm his hands on the steering wheel.

He takes one last deep breath and puts the car in reverse, slowly inching his way down the driveway and onto the road.

 

* * *

 

The first day of kindergarten, it turns out, is a huge fucking deal.

They all knew this going into it but, honestly. _Huge_ fucking deal.

They’re all sitting around the dinner table, pizza boxes open between them, and Alfie and Ruby have not stopped talking for at least two hours straight.

“And then, and then, we talked about rules!”

“Oh yeah? And what’re the rules?” Liam asks, through bites of pizza.

“No talking when someone else is talking,” Ruby says, counting off on her fingers. “No being mean. No not sharing. No leaving without teacher’s permission, no—”

“We saw big kids, too!” Alfie butts in. Usually that would get Ruby going but she stops immediately, says, “Yeah! We walked in a line and saw them. They look scary.”

Zayn laughs and reaches for another slice of pizza. “Oh, they won’t hurt you. You’ll be that big one day.”

Alfie nods his head excitedly.

“What else did you learn today?”

“Ummm,” Alfie starts, picking apart his pizza crust with his hands. “We got to see toys and books and stuff and where everything goes. Like our room, daddy,” he says, turning to Liam, “with everything in place.”

“Oh, that’s nice!” Liam says enthusiastically. “You two will be pros at that, then, won’t you? Putting everything back where you got it?”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “They have dolls just like mine!”

There’s more of this, the excitement propelling them all the way through dessert, and by the time they’re worn out with talking Liam and Zayn have learned all about their new friends, what kind of coloring they did, and how their teacher reminds them a lot of Auntie Sunny.

“Is it lots different than preschool?” Zayn asks, curious to hear their response.

“Mmhm, lots!” Ruby says, and it’s only been one day but Zayn is tickled by the conviction in her voice. “It’s more important,” she says, spreading her arms as if to show by how much.

“And you’re bigger too, aren’t you?” Liam asks. “You’re _five_ now.”

“We’re five and we’re bigger,” Alfie agrees in a sing-songy voice.

They’d had a small party at the house a few weeks ago for the twins’ birthday, and it was a great way to spend the last warm days of summer. It was just a simple gathering outside, with some of Alfie and Ru’s closest friends and their parents. The party was also a great way of feeling fully welcomed into the village, it turned out, because Zayn and Liam got to mingle with all of the parents. It was different than running into them at the school, as it gave them time to really get to know each other over casual beers, a light breeze. A kid did throw up on Zayn’s shoes at one point, but his mom turned out to be lovely and she and Zayn bonded as she helped him clean it up.

Liam’s at the sink doing the dishes by the time the twins really start to wind down about their exciting day, so Zayn gathers them up before they can fall asleep at the table. He parades them upstairs, telling them to brush their teeth and change into jammies then pick which book they want to read and he’ll be up there in a minute. Zayn watches them pad up the stairs then turns back into the kitchen. He dims the lights a little, the simple wrought iron encased bulbs over the island giving everything a soft glow, and pours himself a small glass of wine while he sits watches Liam do the dishes.

It’s quiet, the only sound being Liam sudsing up the plates and running water over them, so it sounds loud when Zayn speaks.

“So um, I,” he starts, clearing his throat. Liam flicks his gaze back at him for a second to show he’s listening. “I, uh...got offered a promotion.”

Liam whips his head around. “You what? Zayn! To what?!”

Zayn sips his wine and glances briefly at Liam, not being able to settle his eyes on him. “To, um, partner.”

Liam drops the plate he was holding back in the sink so bubbles splash up. His eyes go wide. “Partner? Partner?! Zayn!” And he doesn’t even dry his hands before he moves to Zayn and grips him in a hug, lifting him off the stool. “Babe, that’s so!” He pulls back to look at Zayn’s face. And Zayn has no idea what his expression is saying but he hopes it’s conveying how thrilled he is, how absolutely thrilled he is that Liam’s thrilled. “Is this what your lunch was about, earlier?”

Zayn takes both of Liam’s hands in his own, wet and soapy and all. “No, that was just work,” he says, smiling. “Clive asked me a few days ago, but he gave me some time to think on it.”

Liam’s expression shifts, like he hadn’t even considered that it needed thinking. “Oh! Well...have you thought?”

Zayn laughs at his face, how worried he looks. “Yeah, well, of course! Of course I’m going to take it. I just, wanted to tell you first, and the kids, before I like—”

“ _God_ ,” Liam says, emphatically, and then he’s hugging him again, nearly pulling him off the stool with his strength. “You are the most wonderful human being and I love you.”

And this, maybe, is what Zayn had been waiting for, unconsciously or not.

He hugs Liam back, burrowing his face in his chest, and he feels so grateful that he can have a support system like this, unapologetically optimistic even in the face of the scariest things.

“Go on and tell the kids,” Liam says eventually, beaming at him and pushing him out of the kitchen. “They need to know their dad’s a boss.”

“Ha!” Zayn says, sashaying up the stairs and preening when Liam laughs. “As if they don’t know that already.”

 

* * *

 

It’s Halloween and they’re all dressed up and ready to go.

They had scrambled for weeks to decide what to do, but they knew it had to be themed. Peter Pan had been on heavy rotation the past few weekends, so they’d decided on that. Zayn is Captain Hook and has curled his hair accordingly, as best as he could while having a disastrous Skype session with Safaa and Waliyha, howling with laughter each time he’d burned himself. He’s waiting for their screencaps to come around and bite him in the ass one day. Liam is Peter Pan and Zayn swears that green tights have never looked so good. Every time Liam catches him looking he winks, which is all the reason Zayn needs to growl “Argh!” and raise his hook threateningly.

And Ruby and Alfie are Lost Boys. When Zayn had, with all good intentions, brought home a Tinkerbell costume for Ruby she had cried all night about it, wailing at the top of her lungs that she didn’t want it and why did she have to be Tink. Both Liam and Zayn had tried to console her, telling her that she didn’t have to be and look Ru, dad is sorry, he made a mistake, but she hadn’t calmed down until she cried so much she wore herself out and fell asleep with a frown still on her face.

Zayn had moped on Liam’s shoulder in bed later until Liam had gotten up and left the room, only to come back wearing the bloody thing. Startled, Zayn had said that he didn’t think they’d had a grown man in mind when they made the Tinkerbell costume. It was an impossibly tight fit and Liam had had to stretch the neck hole just to get through, there was a tear under both arms and the sleeves were hanging off him, but surprisingly the skirt was puffy enough that he was able to squeeze his thighs in it but it still rode obscenely high up, easily showing the curve of his ass.

By the time Zayn had taken it in fully, he thought he would die from laughing. Later, he’d had to get up and physically cut Liam out of the thing, just so he could breathe again. It was currently laying in green and glittery pieces at the back of their closet. 

So Lost Boys they were, and Liam had done both Alfie's and Ruby’s makeup, giving them fierce eye smudges and dirt marks around their faces.

“You ready?” Zayn asks excitedly, standing with the kids at the door and already loving how his crimson velvet robe keeps him incredibly warm.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” The twins say, jumping up and down with their pumpkin-shaped buckets flapping.

“Liam,” Zayn calls. “We’re ready!”

“Alright, coming,” comes the faint sound of Liam’s voice from upstairs. And Zayn knows what he’s doing, but it’s his own fault for not specifying what size tights he thought he needed. Zayn, obviously quite mistaken, had assumed that mediums would be large enough.

Liam barrels down the stairs, walking funny and pulling at the top of the tights the whole way. Zayn just barely keeps from falling down laughing. He smirks instead, trying to perfect his Captain Hook sneer.

“Lookin’ good,” he says, as Liam huddles with them at the door.

Liam rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, but he’s smiling. Then he turns his attention down to Alfie and Ruby. “Ok, chickens. What’re the rules?”

Alfie holds up a finger. “Rule 1: No running fast.”

Liam nods.

Ruby holds up a finger. “Rule 2: No leaving without you or Dad.”

Liam flicks his head again in a nod, looking eerily just like Peter Pan with the felt cap on his head.

Alfie holds up three fingers. “Rule 3: Make sure I’m with Ru the whole time.”

Zayn raps his hook against the door for applause. “Well done, babes! I think they deserve some candy. What do you think Liam? Oh, sorry— _Peter_?”

“Hmm,” Liam says, stroking his chin and looking down thoughtfully at them. They’re bouncing in place, brown eyes pleading at him to say yes. “I suppose so.”

“Yay!” They cheer. With his working hand, Zayn unlatches the door and they all walk out into the chill air.

This is the first year that they’ll really be celebrating Halloween in the village. Last year, the kids had been old enough but they’d gone through a weird, simultaneous phase where they’d been afraid of everything. Any kind of costume at all sent them into fits. But this year, they had gotten over it and were ready to tackle Halloween with a vengeance. Zayn can see it on their expressions now as they dart down the driveway, eager for candy and determined to get it.

The village is spooky enough on it’s on a chilled autumn night, but to walk around in it, all dressed in costume on the brink of dusk is something else entirely. Since they live on the outskirts of town, they have a bit of ways to go before they get into the heart of the village. Thankfully, they’ve been living here long enough that Liam and Zayn know which neighbors to take the kids to and which to avoid. They go to the door with the kids at each house but for the neighbors that they really know, they hang back a bit, letting the kids do their own thing. That’s what they do when they get to Martha’s house, the smell of cheese wafting suspiciously out from her open front door even though her cheese shop is blocks away.

“They’re our babies, aren’t they?” Liam asks, his tone nostalgic.

It’s unexpected so Zayn looks at him funnily, but Liam’s just staring straight ahead at the kids. There’s a speck of glitter on his cheek from the Tinkerbell costume and Zayn, futilely, tries to get it off.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice soft, watching the kids talk to a mini Batman and Robin duo. Then he steps to Liam’s other side so he can take his hand with the hand not hindered by a hook. Liam’s palm is dry, the skin slightly calloused from where he’s been working harder lately, now that he’s established in the village and has been helping everyone prep for the coming winter.

“I can’t imagine life being any other way. You know?” Liam asks, turning his head to look at Zayn.

“My, my, we’re feeling sentimental tonight, aren’t we?” Zayn teases.

“Oh hush you,” Liam says, squeezing his hand and kicking his feet in the leaves. “It just—feels really good, doesn’t it? It feels right?” He sounds like he’s trying to prod the answer out of Zayn, but he should know by now that he doesn’t have to prod very hard.

Zayn thinks about when they first bought the house, when they first even talked about it. Before that, he thinks about adopting Alfie and Ru, walking into the room of babies at the agency and seeing those two, nestled safely beside each other, their brown faces so tiny and smooth, and the way he had audibly heard Liam’s breath catch. After that, he thinks about stubbing his toe everyday, in the same spot on the same step when he runs upstairs. He thinks about the way sunlight floods Alfie and Ruby’s room, the way it hits their faces when they’re sleeping. He thinks about the way Liam’s face looks when he comes home from work, when they lock eyes for the first time in hours. He thinks about the way the heater still hisses when it refuses to work properly, the way the kitchen sink had leaked miserably for weeks, the view from his office, the way it looks when rainwater seeps into the garden.

“I don’t think anything could ever feel more right,” Zayn finally says, knocking his shoulder playfully into Liam’s. “You old man.”

Liam looks down at him and moves like he’s going to kiss him, but then he stops.

Confused, Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“Well I can’t be seen kissing the enemy, can I?” Liam asks with a perfectly straight face, eyes twinkling.

Zayn’s mouth drops open in surprise. He raises his hook in warning. “Why _I oughta_ —”

Alfie and Ruby come running back towards them then, kicking up leaves in their haste to show them what’s in their pumpkins.

“Look, Daddy, chocolate!” Ruby says, thrilled.

“Oooh, look at all that! Someone’s tummy’s going to be hurting tonight.”

“Nuh uh,” Alfie shakes his head no. Then he takes Ruby’s hand and they walk ahead a bit up the sidewalk, stopping every few feet to say hi to their friends from school and compare candy.

“I’m just glad it’s not cheese,” Zayn whispers to Liam, glancing back at Martha’s house like she can somehow hear them.

Liam laughs, big and loud, and it makes Alfie and Ruby turn back to look at them. The sun has just set fully and the moon is already out, bright and full, but there are are enough street lamps to light the way. The sidewalk is about to end, signifying moving from the edge of the village into the village proper. Alfie and Ruby know not to cross the street without their dads, so they come back to them accordingly and each take a hand. Ruby holds onto the plastic tip of Zayn’s hook.

They line up at the sidewalk and Liam, chest puffed out, fists on his hips in his best Peter Pan imitation, stands at the crosswalk. They all follow his lead.

“Alright, look right!” he bellows.

All their heads swivel to the right. No cars coming, just empty, tree-lined road.

“Now, left!” he bellows again.

Their heads swivel to the left. No cars that way either, just the orange glow of streetlamps lighting the way.

“Alright: let’s go!”

And they cross into town together, all in a line, a misunderstood villain, a boy who would never grow up, and two lost children, just looking to be loved.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thaaaaaaaaaaanks for reading! i'm on [tumbly!](http://fleshriots.tumblr.com/post/112619946916/be-a-place-that-i-call-home) xoxo


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